The Flaw in the Plan
by PK9
Summary: Before the berries, the rule change, even Rue's flowers, he did something that no one had ever imagined in 73 years of Hunger Games, and so became a contender, until Katniss Everdeen ruined everything.  The untold story of Landmine Boy from District 3.
1. Part I:  THE IDEA

_**Author's Note:** ____This story is about a character who intrigued me greatly despite only appearing in one small scene_ of The Hunger Games. _If you are reading this story, I assume that you have already read this book. Events will naturally mirror those described in the canon. If you have not read the sequel, _Catching Fire_, I strongly recommend that you do so prior to reading this fic. This story features two characters which are introduced in the second book, and the epilogue takes place about midway through that story, so it will spoil you significantly._

_**Disclaimer**: I cannot express how much I do not own any of this. _The Hunger Games_ and the characters within belong to Suzanne Collins. I have borrowed the title of this fiction from a chapter in _Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows_, which belongs to JK Rowling. This story is intended to be a companion piece to the fanfics "A Fox's View" and "Love is a Battlefield" by **Caisha702**, as well as "Cripple" by **be-nice-to-nerds**, all of which can be found on this website. Many of the "missing moments" scenes (as well as the non-canon names outside of District 3) are borrowed from these stories (and associated one-shots) in order to generate continuity. Many thanks to Caisha and BNTN for their great stories which inspired me to write this, and for their support in the writing process!_

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**Part I**

**"THE IDEA"**

Chapter 1

When my alarm clock goes off at precisely six o'clock in the morning, I instantly snap awake. This is actually a bit of a first for me. Normally at this point, I would be hitting the snooze button, and perhaps contemplating how to rewire the clock so it sends out a signal that slows down all the clocks at my school so I can get an extra hour of sleep. Until today, school was undoubtedly the worst part of my life – six hours of complete boredom until I could race back to the Shop and the only activity that made my life worthwhile. But today is different. Today is Reaping Day.

I sit up in my bed and take a look around my room. This might be the very last time I ever wake up in this place, so I try to commit it to memory. My bedroom is not particularly large, but it is filled with all the basic essentials. I even have an ancient television on a shelf in the corner. In many places, that would be an unheard-of luxury, but seeing as I rescued it from the junkyard and rebuilt the whole thing myself… I look out the window next to my desk. The early morning light illuminates the dull-grey urban jungle of the factories that make up District 3. It's an altogether depressing view from the second floor.

Since before I was born, my family has run an electronics-repair shop that occupies most of the first floor of our residence. When he was young, my father worked in one of the factories; I think it produced fancy coffee machines or something similar that only people in the Capitol could afford, unless you were very rich. And in District 3, it would be easier to find a rainforest than a very rich person – past Hunger Games victors excluded. Anyways, after he met my mother, he quit his job and started up the Shop, and they made out pretty well. My father always joked that one of the great ironies of life was that while everything in Panem was manufactured in District 3, there was never anyone around to fix something when it broke down. He would only say it in private, of course. Any public mention of dissatisfaction with the quality of life in District 3 could get you a whipping by the Peacekeepers at the very least. You might even be accused of sedition and end up very, very dead.

Business has always been fairly good; the workshop downstairs is continually filled with a maze of electronic components and projects in progress. So it should come as no surprise that my brothers and I played with circuit boards and wires almost before we could walk. My brothers are pretty good with electronics, but they never shared the same passion for it that I have. I've always loved the challenge of solving the puzzle, figuring out the function of each component and finding the solution to the problem. By the age of eight, I was finishing projects as fast as my father. But there was always another unfinished project, so we usually work late into the night.

Which is why, on a normal day, my mother would literally have to drag me out of bed in order for me to get up. Today, however, I'm filled with a nervous energy that makes further sleep impossible.

The door opens slightly, and I see the face of my twin brother Mattel peeking into the room.

"You up already?" he whispers.

I can see reflected in his eyes the same fear that infuses every ounce of my being. We aren't even identical twins, but practically everyone in District 3 has the same black hair and ashy skin. Since we happen to be brothers of the exact same age, the resemblance is even closer. Add in the fact that we're both abnormally small even by District 3 standards, and one can easily see why everyone just assumes we're identical.

"Yeah," I respond.

"Big day, huh."

"Big day."

Neither of us is particularly loquacious, but we don't really need to be. Matt is undoubtedly my best friend – at least, the best friend that is my age. I have to rank my father up there too, but no matter how much we bond over fixing radios, there's a limit due to the presence of the father/son relationship. But Matt and are so close we each can almost always tell what the other is thinking based on body language. So while Matt simply said "Big day, huh," I interpret it as "This is the day we've been dreading for years and I'm scared out of my mind." So I hop over and give him a hug.

Because today will be our first Reaping. Well, technically it is our fourth, but today will be the first time that Matt and I are actually in danger of going to the Capitol if either of our names is drawn. Our older brother, Intel, had promised Matt and me that if we were ever drawn, he would volunteer in our place. He's strong and athletic, the complete opposite of us. He spent all his free time training informally so he could compete against the so called "Career Tributes" of Districts 1, 2, and 4, if someone in our family was unlucky enough to be drawn at a Reaping. But this year, he turned nineteen, and so he is no longer eligible for the Hunger Games. For so many children in Panem, turning nineteen is a tremendous relief. But for my family, it is the start of a four-year period in which having one of our names drawn will mean certain death for either my brother or me. This year, there will be eight slips of paper in the lottery that will have my family's name on it; four for my brother and four for me.

Our family has always been pretty well-off financially. Not rich, but we've never struggled to survive. We have never had to sign up for tesserae, so our only entries in the lottery were the minimum requirements: when you turn twelve, your name is entered into the Reaping once. Each year after that, your name gets entered an additional time, like some sort of sick birthday present from the Capitol. _Congratulations for living for another year, now we're going to increase your chances of dying before adulthood._ At the age of fifteen, my brother and I each have our names entered four times. Still, we're about as safe as we can possibly be. The poorer children in our District who have been forced to survive by buying tesserae – a supply of grain and oil for the price of an additional entry in the lottery – easily have their names on four or five times the number of slips of paper than I do. But even having a single entry is enough to make it a nerve-wracking ordeal.

For the past seven years, of course, the ordeal has been dealing with the potential of losing Intel to the Games. He would have had a better chance than average, but the harsh reality is that even the best trained Careers have less than a ten percent chance of survival. After all, only one person out of twenty four can walk out of the arena alive. So the fear has grown each year as three more slips of paper with our family's name would be added to the lottery. Last year was the worst, with Intel having a whopping 13 chances to end up in the Games.

My family sits down for breakfast in complete silence. In the past, this would be broken by my mother reminding Intel not to volunteer for anyone other than Mattel and me. I know she's just paranoid; my brother wasn't suicidal, he simply believed in being prepared. But I can understand her worry, since Intel attended every single one of Beetee's "motivational speeches". It's clear that our district's former champion has dreams of turning District 3 into a fourth Career district. Occasionally someone would be deluded into thinking they have a chance and volunteer, and they'd inevitably get slaughtered on the first day. Our last victory was sixteen years ago. Intel would scare my mother by dissecting the tributes before the Games and then discussing strategies with us while children died live on television. And then my mother and Intel would argue and she would say terrible things about the Capitol, things which could never be said outside the walls of our home.

On a typical Reaping Day, the conversation would go something like this:

"Intel…"

"I know, Mom."

"I know you've promised to volunteer for your brothers, but don't you _dare_ volunteer for someone outside of this family."

"You know I won't."

"No, I really don't know. Not with the way you listen to that horrible man's nonsense."

"Beetee's not so bad."

"Yes, he is. Trying to get all you young kids to train. Filling your heads with thoughts of fame and money. And for what? Just so he can relive his glory days?"

"Mom, that's totally unfair. No matter what, two kids have to go every year. Beetee just wants them to have a fair chance, that's all."

"'Fair?' You call one in twenty-four 'fair?'"

"It's better than what we usually have."

"And you're willing to throw away your life just because of a slightly better chance?"

"I keep telling you, Mom. I don't want to go to the Games. I'll only volunteer if Max or Matt get chosen, I promise."

Today, however, my mother has nothing to say to us. Mattel and I would never dream of volunteering. Our approach has always been the polar opposite from Intel: avoid thinking about it as much as possible, survive the next four Reapings, and move on with our lives.

After breakfast, Mattel and I get dressed in the same matching shirts and suits that we always wear to Reapings and other special occasions – everyone's expected to be dressed in their finest in case they get chosen, so as to not reflect badly on the whole district in front of all of Panem. More often than not, it's the same set of clothes that they get buried in, after their bodies return in plain wooden boxes from the Capitol.

As always, our family travels together to the Reaping. Our house is located in a section of District 3 known as the Belt, a tight cluster of merchant shops built around the main thoroughfares between the Processing Center and the train station. In District 3, everything that is manufactured in the factories – from music players to cars to hovercraft parts – must first go to the Processing Center to be cataloged before being shipped to the train station for delivery to the Capitol. Since everything must pass through the Belt, it's a prime location for merchants to earn business.

It takes about an hour to get to the Main Square of District 3 from our home, so we arrive a little before nine o'clock. There's still more than thirty minutes until the Reaping starts, but the square is already almost full. It may be Tuesday morning, but there is no school and all the factories are closed. By law every citizen of the district must attend the Reaping, and most are already here. Once we sign in as a family with eligible children, the Peacekeepers allow us into the square – the population of District 3 is far too large to all fit, so if you do not have an eligible child, you have to watch from the adjacent streets on giant screens. When we get as far as we can go as a family, we stop and join our hands in a circle for a brief prayer, the same one have said each of the past seven years. "May the odds be ever in our family's favor," my father says. That's all. Our tiny act of rebellion: using the Capitol's slogan for the Games as a prayer to avoid them.

Mattel and I leave the other three members of our family and make our way to the section for the fifteen-year-olds. I glance back at my older brother, and Intel has a look on his face that clearly shows that he wishes there was a section for nineteen-year-olds. But he can't protect us any more.

When we reach the enclosure, we spot one of our friends from school, Haier Saito. He greets us cheerfully, as if he didn't have a care in the world.

"What's up, Runts?"

"Hi, Hai… er," my brother responds.

It's the usual daily banter, that almost always involves Haier making fun of our small stature, and us making puns based on his name.

"It's the happiest day of the year! Zo-em-gee, aren't you excited?" he says for the benefit of the dozens of camera crews positioned all around the square. I almost smile at his use of a District 3 slang term – no one knows how the word was invented, but it's generally used to express surprise or excitement.

In a lower voice meant only for us, Haier adds, "Only three more Reapings after this."

Such is life in Panem. Even minutes from a lottery that will send two children to almost certain death, we're expected to celebrate like it's the best day of the year. But Haier's more accustomed to the pressure. After all, he's been truly at risk three previous times. Matt and I just stay silent as the minutes tick down and the tension builds. We hold hands, like a pair of five year olds crossing the street.

At 9:20, Googol Gates, the mayor of District 3, leads a procession onto the stage. He's followed by Verity Phillips, the District 3 escort from the Capitol with her skin dyed bubblegum pink, and finally our three surviving former Games victors, Arvee, Beetee and Wiress. They take seats behind the podium and the glass jars holding the entries of all the District 3 children. _Ten minutes to go. _

At exactly 9:30, Mayor Gates steps up to the podium and reads the same speech that every mayor in all of Panem reads every year: the history of Panem, the rebellion of the Districts, and the Treaty of Treason that produced the Hunger Games. Then he lists District 3's four past winners, and now Verity Phillips is stepping up to the podium and bubbling in her Capitol accent, "Happy Hunger Games everybody! And may the odds be ever in your favor!" Then, like she has done every year since I can remember, she addresses the crowd like we are a group of kindergarteners, and tries to get us to play a game of 'Which Gender Should Go First?'

"Who thinks it the boys should go first this year? Who thinks it should be the girls? I can't hear you! Boys? Girls?"

This goes on for several minutes until the crowd has faked enough enthusiasm to satisfy Verity. For us potential tributes, it just prolongs the agony of waiting. Finally she decides that the crowd has chosen the boys to go first, and reaches into the jar holding the boys' names.

_Not me or Matt_, I have time to think once before she pulls out the slip of paper.

"Maxell Dyson!"

_No, no, no, no, no!_

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**A/N**: If you're reading this, let me know what you think! This is my first foray into fanfiction so feedback is appreciated. FYI: I have a draft of the whole story already written out, so all the major events are pretty much planned out. But I'm editing as I go, so everything is certainly open to improvement.


	2. Chapter 2

_Thanks to everyone who reviewed! I hope the remainder of my story lives up to your high expectations! _

_Oh yeah. I don't own any of this. _Hunger Games_ belongs to Suzanne Collins, the title of this story belongs to JK Rowling, **Caisha702** and **be-nice-to-nerds** created and continue to expand this particular version of the Hunger Games Universe._

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Chapter 2

The world spins and collapses around me. I look around and suddenly I can't even see the Main Square of District 3 anymore. It's as though I am standing in the smoldering ruins of District 13. All around me is the fog of war, and I am its casualty. My life is over.

I feel a squeeze on my hand and my eyes focus to see Mattel staring at me, eyes wide in shock. I realize the crowd is silent and everyone is staring at us. Or rather, me. I have the vague thought that I'm supposed to go up on stage for some reason, and slowly I make my way up to the front. I'm still completely dazed when Verity asks for volunteers. _Intel_, I think. _ Intel is supposed to volunteer for me_. And then I remember: he can't. For a second I wonder wildly whether Matt would, but just as quickly realize that I absolutely don't want him to.

After a moment of silence, it becomes apparent that no one has volunteered for me, and my mind zones out again so much that I don't even hear the name of the girl tribute. Suddenly, I feel her hand warm in mine and I look up to see a tiny girl with hair so light, it could almost be described as white. She looks to be a year or two younger than me. I realize we're shaking hands and then the national anthem is playing and now we're being marched off the stage and into the Justice Building.

The Peacekeepers put the white-haired girl and me into separate rooms to wait for our loved ones to come and say goodbye. As soon as the door closes, I collapse into a chair and start crying. Somewhere in the back of my mind I'm vaguely aware that I'm supposed to appear strong to win the favor of sponsors, but it just doesn't seem very important to me right now. I'm overwhelmed by the injustice of everything – the Games, the Capitol, and all of Panem. I hate the Capitol for controlling our lives. I hate the Districts for rebelling and failing so that the Games were forced on us. And I hate Verity Phillips for picking my name out of a thousand others.

My friends from school come first. They don't stay long, just a couple of "good luck"s and "I'll miss you"s, but it's impossible not to absorb their somber mood. It's not often that you go to a funeral where the dearly departed is still breathing.

Haier is the last of my school friends to come see me. I barely look up when he comes in, so I don't expect it when he grabs me and shakes me. "Max!" He never calls me by my name. I look up at his face in surprise. No smile, no joking. "You've given up already, haven't you?"

"Haier, the odds of my surviving…"

"Screw the odds. They're bad for everyone. As long as you're still breathing, there's a chance and you gotta fight for it!"

I know he has a point, but my fraction of a chance is so small that it's virtually nonexistent. For his sake, though, I promise that I'll try. I don't want to end our friendship on a sour note.

Once Haier leaves, the rest of the allotted hour is given to my family.

It's torturous. My father reflects on all the time we spent working together in the Shop and what a bright and talented kid I am. My mother can't get out more than a few words at a time before bursting into tears, which only makes it easier for me to cry as well.

Matt, my closest friend in the entire world, can't meet my eyes when he says "I'm sorry."

That lights a fire in me. "Don't you dare. Don't you dare be sorry about not taking my place! We had an agreement! I'd never let you die for me!" I stop abruptly, because I realize that I am yelling at my twin brother.

"I'm sorry about that." This is not the way I want to say goodbye to Matt, to have his last memory of me to be my screaming at him. "You know I love you, and I could never stand to see you go in my place."

"I know."

And then it's Intel's turn to apologize needlessly. "I'm sorry I turned nineteen this year. I'm sorry I can't do what I always planned to do and take your place."

"I'm sorry I didn't listen to you more. Maybe I would have had a chance."

"You still do. We're District 3; we win by outsmarting the others. And you are the smartest one in this family, and maybe even the whole district. You just need to figure out something that gives you an advantage. You need to come up with a plan."

Intel is right about how District 3 usually wins. What he neglected to mention is that it's happened precisely four times in seventy-three years of Hunger Games. And each one of those times, the District 3 tribute had something special that set him or her apart from the cannon fodder that our district usually provides. I don't stand a chance. But I can't bear to break my family's hearts with the awful truth. Instead, I tell them that I'll do my best.

"Here." Intel hands me a necklace made out of wire. Attached like a pendant is a broken fragment of a microchip. "This would have been my district token if I had gone to the Games. Will you wear it for me?"

"Of course." I'm grateful to have something so fitting to remind me of the home that I will never see again.

Suddenly the Peacekeepers are at the door and telling us it's time to go. We hurriedly say our last goodbyes, and my father finishes it off with "I'm proud of you, son. I love you." Then he touches his hand to his heart and holds up his palm to me, fingers parted between the middle and fourth fingers – the traditional farewell salute in District 3.

Just like that, they're gone. The Peacekeepers usher the white-haired girl and me into a waiting car, and we drive quickly up the Belt to the train station. When we pass near my house, I can't even bring my eyes to look out the window. We get to the station and board the tribute train amidst a mob of cameras. Everyone in all of Panem will be able to see that I have been crying, but it really doesn't matter. Who cares about impressing people when you know you're going to die in a week?

After what seems like hours of standing in the doorway for photographs – a task that only Verity Phillips finds any enjoyment with – an assistant finally manages to get the door closed and direct us to our rooms while the train gets underway. My room is ten times more elaborate than any that I've ever been in back in District 3, but I barely take notice of the surroundings before I collapse on the gigantic bed and cry myself to sleep.

* * *

I awaken several hours later to Verity's knocking and cheerful "Dinner's almost ready!" It's already early evening so I must have slept for most of the afternoon, but I do not feel refreshed. In fact, it's the opposite: I feel even more drained than before I lay down, because of the nightmares. While I slept, my mind brought up all the memories of watching the Hunger Games on television, except that rather than _watching_ the tributes die in agonizing ways, in my nightmares I _was_ the tributes. I dreamt of being skewered with a sword by a Career at the bloodbath, getting eaten by wild dogs, being decapitated and watching the bloody mess of my headless body, freezing to death and dying of thirst. Time after time, I would die only to find myself facing a gruesome death in yet another dream. I've heard of victors haunted by their memories so much that they turned to alcohol or narcotics, but I haven't even stepped foot in the arena yet. If by some miracle I win, I'll probably turn out to be a nutcase like that girl from District Four who won the year almost everyone else drowned. She was in my dream, too; I was the district partner who got beheaded while she watched.

I try to shake off the lingering effects of my nightmares as I clean myself up in the bathroom. A private bathroom. On a train. At home there's one bathroom upstairs that all five of us share. And it's considered luxurious because it has two sinks and usually has hot water.

I look in the mirror and see that I look like a complete mess. My Reaping outfit is wrinkled from my nap and now wet because I ended up splashing water all down the front of my clothes as I cleaned my face. I vaguely remember Verity telling me that there were clothes for me to use in the room, so I randomly open up drawers and find stacks of insanely fine clothing. Even the simple shirt and casual pants that I select are made of better material than my Reaping outfit. The contents of one drawer of clothes are probably worth more than everything my family owns back in District 3. And they just lie around all year, waiting to be used once by a tribute on his way to his death at the hands of the Capitol. It's so unfair.

By the time I make my way to the dining car, I'm the last to arrive and the first course is being served. I quietly sit down as I take in the faces of the other four members of the District 3 "team." Verity Phillips, our escort, who I can't look at for more than a few seconds without my eyes watering from the color of her skin. Our mentors, Wiress and Beetee – I guess this is Arvee's year off. That's too bad. What Arvee did with that old car sixteen years ago was exactly the kind of out-of-the-box thinking that might have given me a sliver of a chance. As for Beetee, years of listening to my mother's rants have conditioned me to be wary of anything that comes out of his mouth. And now I'm going to have to trust him with my life.

The remaining person at the table is my district partner, the white-haired girl whose name I still don't know. I wonder whether I should introduce myself and get to know her, but what's the point? In the best-case scenario, if everything goes miraculously, one of us will have to kill the other in a few weeks in order to win and go home. The worst-case scenario? We'll both be dead in exactly seven days.

Verity Phillips distracts me from my morbid thoughts by telling us to eat. "You two are so tiny! Sponsors don't like underfed tributes!" Now, I don't know about the white-haired girl, but Verity Phillips is completely wrong about me. I may be scrawny, but it certainly isn't due to a lack of food on the dinner table. I've just never needed much to satisfy me before the workshop would take my attention away from food. At Verity's insistence, though, I take a few bites. The food is far richer and more flavorful than anything I've ever tasted, made from seafood and meats and vegetables that we never have in District 3. Even the bread is exquisite: white as snow and perfectly baked with just the right amount of sweetness.

I hate it. I'd give anything to be back at home, eating a meal of preserved meat and canned vegetables, and our trademark bite-sized District 3 rolls. The fancy food is just another reminder of the disparity in wealth between the Capitol and the districts.

My appetite gone, I ignore Verity Phillips' continued attempts to force food down my throat. Instead I turn my attention to our mentors. Wiress is about forty, and Beetee maybe ten years older. They won their respective games long before I was born. Being a Hunger Games victor makes it hard for the regular people in the district to relate to you, so naturally they became really close friends. So close, in fact, that they have a habit of finishing each other's sentences. Right now, they're in a deep conversation about the application of particle physics in the design of sight shields, which are used by the Capitol to keep hovercraft invisible from the tributes during the Games. It's a subject I would normally find quite interesting. If I wasn't on a train being taken to my certain death, of course.

Beetee and Wiress break off their conversation when they realize that I am watching them. Or, rather, we are. Out of the corner of my eye I can see my district partner also looking at our mentors. For a while, they quietly study us – Wiress with her sharp eyes that look capable of seeing right through me; Beetee more thoughtful as he lifts up his glasses and looks under them at us.

Verity Phillips breaks the silence by addressing our mentors cheerily. "What do you think? Are the odds in our favor this year?" I'm awestruck; despite the fact that both mentors are at least a decade older and far smarter than Verity, she's managed to address them in a tone of voice that a teacher might use to talk to young children. I wonder if she talks to everyone like that, or if it's just the non-Capitol people that she sees as childlike.

Wiress speaks with a quiet voice. "You are both so unprepared. Didn't… listen…"

"Yes, you clearly haven't used my lectures to your advantage." Beetee finishes after Wiress trails off. "Regardless, we are here to assist you to the best of our abilities. There are still a few days left to learn."

I sigh. Beetee and his "lectures". The school brings him in at least once every year to share about his experience in the Hunger Games. I've learned all about his famous electrical trap that wiped out five competitors in a single blow – which was probably the last time they ever had anything with that much voltage available at the Cornucopia. Not much you can do with flashlight batteries. Beetee always says the same things about being prepared and using our knowledge to gain an advantage, just in case. Then he invites anyone who is interested in learning more to have dinner at his house in the Victors' Village. The whole district knows that he intends them to be training sessions, which would technically be against the rules, but the Peacekeepers don't bother him about it. After all, Districts 1, 2 and 4 already have Career tributes, who annually demolish the non-Careers or "Others" with ease. Maybe the Peacekeepers are embarrassed enough by our poor showing to allow the handful of kids who listen to train.

The truth of the matter is, despite District 12's reputation, in the past few years, District 3 has been making a serious run at their title of Most Pathetic in the Games. Over that past four years, we have not had a single tribute survive long enough to witness the first night's death recap. Six of the eight died in the Bloodbaths, and a seventh fell off a cliff while fleeing the Cornucopia. The closest we got was two years ago, when a kid by the name of Dolbee was caught by the Career pack a mere ten minutes before the Anthem played. _Yes. Live to see the first Death Recap. That's a realistic goal for me._

Because I have never, ever, stepped foot in Beetee's house. Intel went, of course, but Matt and I listened to our mother and avoided him as much as possible. Didn't want our minds to be "polluted by Beetee's nonsense". I am such an idiot.

Beetee asks us if we remember his three principles of preparation. I nod, but the white-haired girl shakes her head, so Beetee goes through them again. "One: know yourself. Know your abilities and your limitations. Two: know your enemy. Know their strengths and weaknesses. Three: know the arena. Once the Games start, learn what the dangers are and what areas you can use to your advantage. Let us start with step one."

Beetee and Wiress quiz us for a while, trying to get to know us and any useful abilities we might have. They seem to genuinely want to help us, even though it soon becomes apparent that neither of us has any survival skills or athletic ability. But the conversation is not a complete waste because it allows me to learn that my district partner's name is Pixelle, though she prefers to be called Pixie. The similarity between her name and those of my family is not lost on me.

After dinner we move to another carriage to watch a recap of the Reapings. Although I've seen them every year, the contrast between the volunteering systems of District 1 and District 2 never ceases to amaze me. District 1 sends two volunteers out of what looks like a stampede of hopefuls, while District 2 has preselected volunteers. This year, however, there's a little bit of confusion; there is no girl volunteer, although the girl who was reaped looks like she may be a well-trained Career. Maybe if a Career's name is called, there's an agreement that he or she gets to go?

District 3 is next, and my ponderings on the mechanics of Career volunteering is wiped from my mind as I watch first myself, then Pixie get chosen. After the first four Career tributes, we look so small and weak that it's clear no one will give us a chance. When we see the size contrast again with the strong and powerful Careers from District 4, the reality hits home. _We can't possibly compete against them. There is no hope. We are both going to die. I am going to die._

I descend into a pit of self-despair for the remainder of the program, unable to pay attention to the Reapings. I see the images flickering on the screen, but not one face or one name comes into focus. Occasionally Wiress, Beetee or Verity Phillips makes a comment, but their words are just as incomprehensible to me as the television screen.

A simultaneous exclamation from Wiress, Beetee and Verity, reacting in unison to something happening on the program, finally snaps me back into reality. I blink at the screen, trying to understand what I'm looking at as a dark-haired girl makes her way up to the stage while a younger blonde girl tries to hold her back.

"A volunteer…" says Wiress.

"From District 12," completes Beetee.

A District 12 volunteer. That's got to be the first time in the history of the Hunger Games. At least, as far back as I can remember. What could motivate anyone from the laughingstock of Panem, the district which never ever produces a contender, to volunteer to die?

As if in answer to my unspoken question, the pink-haired escort from District 12 says, "I bet my buttons that was your sister. Don't want her to steal all the glory, do we?"

_She volunteered to save her sister._ I stare at her on the television screen, but I don't see her face. I see the face of Intel, my brother. She's doing what Intel would have done for me if he could.

Then despair overwhelms me and my mind is swallowed by the void over which it was so precariously perched.

* * *

_A/N: BNTN, is that okay? Everyone else, let me know what you think, too! Thanks!_


	3. Chapter 3

_I don't own any of this. Credit to Suzanne Collins for writing the Hunger Games, JK Rowling for giving me the title to the story, Caisha702 and BNTN for this version of Hunger Games 'verse. In particular, this chapter contains a scene taken directly from chapter 4 of "Love is a Battlefield" by Caisha702. There's also a reference to "A Fox's View", also by Caisha702. If you haven't read those stories yet, what are you doing reading mine? Go read them first! _

___If you're reading, please tell me what you think! Thanks!_

* * *

Chapter 3

When I wake up, I become aware of a few things. One: I'm lying in a fetal position on a comfortable bed. It appears to be the same bed that I napped in yesterday, so that must mean that I am in my private room on the train. I have no memory of how I got here. Maybe I passed out and was carried here. Or maybe I somehow made it here under my own power. Two: my pillow is damp, so I probably spent the whole night crying. Three: there's light streaming in from the window, so it must be morning. Four: the train has stopped moving. I stumble out of bed, make my way over to the window, and look outside. We're at a train station, and all around I can see the multicolored glass buildings of the Capitol surrounding us. We must have arrived during the middle of the night. A result of having one of the earliest Reaping times, I guess.

I suppose I should be impressed by how shiny and clean everything here is, compared to the dreary grey of District 3 – was it really only yesterday that I woke up in my own bed there? I feel like I've aged fifty years in the past day. As pretty as everything is, however, it makes absolutely no impression on me. Because I know that I am looking at the very heart of all evil in Panem. This will be my prison for the next week while I await my execution in the arena. There is no escape.

I try to keep my mind from going into the same dark spiral that led to my breakdown last night, but I can't shake the image of that District 12 girl. I think of the little blond one, screaming hysterically as she tried to keep her sister from volunteering in her place. Doesn't she realize how lucky she is? She's safe. Her sister might die, but at least she'll get to grow up and live a full life. I've had to imagine countless times in the last seven years what it might be like to watch Intel fight and die in the arena. I know it's a horrible situation to be in, but it has to be better than actually being in the arena yourself when you don't stand a chance, right?

Verity Phillips, who seems to be developing a knack of picking the perfect moment to interrupt my thoughts, bursts into the room without even bothering to knock. "Rise and shine! Are you ready for the best day of your life?!" She speaks with such enthusiasm that I suppose she must have completely blotted last night's events from her memory. "Come on my dear, today your stylist will make you look like a real person and then we'll introduce you to the people of Panem! Doesn't that make you excited?!"

I shrug to acknowledge that I heard what she said. This seems to dampen her mood ever so slightly as she informs me that breakfast is in fifteen minutes. After she leaves the room, I go to the bathroom and take a shower to clean myself up, and also to clear my head. I end up just standing under the running water for at least ten minutes – partly because the hot water relaxes my body and partly because it just feels good to be wasting the Capitol's resources. As a result, I'm quite a bit late to breakfast.

When I reach the dining car, the others are having a quiet conversation – probably working on a strategy for Pixie – but they fall silent at my appearance. Well, at least that proves that I didn't imagine my breakdown. They're probably waiting to see if the waterworks start again. _I'll try to keep it together today, okay?_ "Um, hi."

Unsurprisingly, it's Verity Phillips who breaks the awkward silence. "There's our little star! Better late than never! You'd better get started on your breakfast!"

As I eat, Verity explains the schedule for the rest of the day. We'll be disembarking from the train in half an hour, after they finish covering District 2's arrival live. Then we'll be driven to the Remake Center to prepare to tonight's Opening Ceremonies. I learn that the reason we were allowed to finish our night's sleep and eat breakfast at the train station is because the Capitol reporters like to document our arrival, and almost no one gets up before ten. Waking up yesterday at eight thirty to watch the live broadcast of the Reapings was almost too much for most of them, and with all the parties scheduled for tonight after the Ceremonies… Of course. Even our timetable is dictated by the wants of the Capitol population, no thought given to the needs of us tributes.

By the time we arrive at the Remake Center about an hour later, I have gotten quite used to and a little annoyed about everyone's reaction as they see us for the first time. From the reporters whose job it is to cover us, to the masses lining the streets by the entrance to the Remake Center, the assortment of brightly-colored and tattooed faces all show the same series of emotions: Eagerness and excitement as they try to catch a glimpse of us. Then surprise, disappointment, and disinterest as they assess our small stature and quickly decide that we're not the ones they'll be betting on this year. We're just the cannon fodder, and you don't want to become emotionally attached to someone whose gory death you'll be cheering for in a few days.

When we finally make our way through the glass doors into the entrance hall, both Pixie and I are rendered speechless by the mass of people scurrying to and fro. The reporter who had been covering our entrance rolls her eyes when she realizes that we won't be answering her questions. She beckons us forward but keeps Wiress and Beetee for interviews. Former victors are basically celebrities in the Capitol, and Beetee's electrical trap was a particularly impressive finale to a Games, so he's highly respected as the smartest person from the Districts. Sometimes they even joke that he might be as smart as someone from the Capitol. But they always like to get his early assessment on the relative chances of the different tributes.

"Don't worry," says Verity Phillips cheerfully, leading us through the crowd. "It's my duty to get you safely to your stylists, not theirs."

Almost as soon as the words are out of her mouth, she spots a friend in the middle of the gigantic room and tells us to "wait right here" before slipping away and disappearing into the crowd. This leaves Pixie and me completely alone in a totally unfamiliar place. _Some escort you are, Verity_. Eventually, we find ourselves on one side of the room, standing next to a wall with no idea where we're supposed to go.

A fierce-looking dark-haired girl makes her way over to us. One glance at her pale skin tells me that she is not from the Capitol – no body paint, no tattoos. So that must mean that she's a fellow tribute. I look up at her face and a flash of recognition goes through my memory. Yes, she's one of the ones that I saw on television last night. But she's not the girl from District 12. I try to meet her eyes, but the intensity of her gaze soon has me staring at my shoes. Yup, she's definitely one of the Careers. And judging by the bruise on her face and scars on her hands, she's already been in a fight. _Were they always this scary? And this big?_ Fear floods my body as I wonder whether she's here to kill us right now – no, that's not allowed. After the three of us stand in silence for what seems like an eternity, the girl asks in a fake sugary voice, "Did you say goodbye to your families when you left home?"

I say nothing, but Pixie surprises me by answering. "Of course I did," she says, her voice barely more than a whisper. I glance at her and see that like me, she's been carefully studying the floor.

The other girl has a comeback for that. "Good. It must be difficult for you to know that you will never see them again." She may be stating the obvious, but this is crossing the line. The harsh reality is that twenty-three of us _won't_ see our families again. It's something that we all have in common as tributes, that yesterday we had to cope with the horrible goodbyes. I don't know how cocky this girl is, but at best her odds are still no more than ten or fifteen percent. How did she feel when she said goodbye to _her_ family? Did she really have no fear that she wouldn't see them again? Is she even a human being?

The words are out of my mouth before I realize that I'm speaking. "Who are you?"

"The last person you will ever see."

_Zo. Em. Gee. She's actually having fun with this._ The Capitol has forced us to kill each other, and I know Careers have trained their whole lives for this moment. But to be so eager to not only kill children but to inflict as much pain and suffering as possible in the process? Pixie and I probably only have six days left to live. Why does she have to try and make those days as miserable as possible for us? _Person? You're not a person. You're a monster_.

I'm relieved when Wiress and Beetee show up moments later to rescue us. They shepherd us through the crowd toward a corridor on the far side of the entrance hall. After we've put some distance between us and the psycho girl, Pixie speaks up, echoing my last question. "Who was she?"

"Clove Jacia. Female tribute from District 2," answers Beetee immediately. He's always prepared. Of course. The number two principle of preparation is to know your enemy. "She is considered one of the early favorites to win this year." He frowns. "This is highly improper. Tributes…"

"… should not be left unattended outside of the Training Center," completes Wiress, also scowling. I'm not sure if the remark was directed at the District 2 escort, or at Verity Phillips, who is still nowhere to be found. Probably both.

* * *

The next few hours pass by in a blur. After Beetee left me alone in the District 3 boys' Remake Room, I was greeted by an explosion of color resembling a smashed ink cartridge, which turned out to be three people introducing themselves as my prep team. They told me their names, but I just as quickly forgot them other than noting that they were all Capitol-sounding, meaning the two males had names ending in "-ius" while the female's ended in "-ia." In a frenzy of activity, I was scrubbed down three times with different solutions, my hair and nails trimmed, and my face painfully waxed. One of them applied some sort of cream to my face and informed me that it will keep me from growing facial hair for a month. Not that facial hair growth is any kind of problem that I suffer from; I guess this is just standard for all male tributes. Finally they applied an entire layer of solid green body paint before finally pronouncing me ready for my stylist.

Which is how I now find myself completely naked and unable to look at my reflection in the mirrors. The click of high heels on the floor announces the arrival of a woman that I am quite familiar with and totally loathe. Perpenna, District 3's joke of a stylist for as far back as I can remember. You would think someone's whose job title is "stylist" should have at least the slightest sense of style. But not Perpenna. Purple hair in uneven spikes with flaming orange tips. Tattoos and piercings all over her face and probably her body as well. The look might work for a rebellious teenager, but not for a grown woman fast approaching her fifties who likes to wear frilly dresses with floral patterns. Of course, my hate has very little to do with her own appearance but rather the ridiculous ideas she has year after year for our tribute costumes.

Perpenna studies me for about a minute before sighing and saying, "I guess you'll have to do." _Gee, sorry to disappoint you. Maybe you can petition Snow to get a replacement for me. _She hands me a robe and then begins detailing her plan for the Opening Ceremonies. "I'm sure you've seen my marvelous work on the District 3 tributes in the past?"

I nod, although I only agree with about half of that statement. _Seen it and hated it_.

"Well, this year, Cornelius and I have decided to do something new, for a change. As you know, in the past few years, we have focused on the products made by District 3."

_Yes. I know quite well_. Electronics are fantastic products, combining usefulness with elegant designs. They don't make good costumes, though. Every attempt at dressing a tribute as a television or computer or music player has resulted in the unfortunate children from District 3 looking like they were wearing painted cardboard boxes. Still, the last time Perpenna and her partner Cornelius tried to do something different – sewing a series of video panels into the outfit to imitate sight shields and make the tributes invisible – it was a complete disaster. Most of the time the panels didn't transmit the image properly so it just looked like they had pieces of metal stuck to them randomly, and when it did work, it made the tributes blend into the background and become even more forgettable to potential sponsors. Being invisible is worse than looking ridiculous.

So it is with great trepidation that I await the next words out of Perpenna's mouth.

"This year, we decided to focus on the production itself!" Upon seeing my baffled reaction, she adds, "You know, the factories where the products are made? You will see."

Two hours later, I finally understand her meaning, much to my horror. Perpenna has dressed me up in a tremendously heavy contraption to resemble an assembly line robot. Given the weight, I'm not entirely certain whether she didn't simply mount a real robot on my back, since the metal arm actually moves up and down. I almost fainted at the sight of it when she finally brought it out twenty minutes ago. The rest of the time was devoted to tracing thin mazes on my green skin with gold marker, so that all my exposed parts appear to be part of a circuit board. I have to give it to Perpenna; she's definitely surpassed herself this year. I would rather be any one of the previous years' abominations than endure the Opening Ceremonies like this.

Pixie has managed to suffer an even worse fate than me. Cornelius dressed her in a skimpy outfit that can barely be called a dress. It's more like a giant black towel, but the circular patterns on the side reveal that she's supposed to look like a conveyer belt. We can't even bear to look at each other as we're loaded onto the chariots for the tour of the city.

Instead, I look at the tributes around us to see what their costumes are like. I almost immediately regret that decision. Two chariots away, the tributes from District 1 look dazzling in silver body paint and gem-studded tunics. Right next to us, the District 2 male looks absolutely intimidating in a metallic grey suit that emphasizes his muscles perfectly, while the Psycho Girl who we encountered this morning wears an attractive tight-fitting dress of the same color. On our other side, the girl from District 4 is in a beautiful dress designed to mimic the look of a mermaid. Flesh colored top with seashell designs over her chest, and shiny green scales on the long skirt which flares out at the feet like the fins of a fish, in reference to her district's industry. Her district partner looks fairly decent, dressed in a fisherman's jacket with a net draped over his shoulders like a cape, though he doesn't seem to be too pleased with the string of real fish hanging around his neck. Behind District 4, the boy from District 5 has a simple black outfit with a copper-colored cloak, while the red-haired girl wears a fancy dress of the same copper color. The rest of the tributes are too far away for me to really judge their outfits, but from my limited sample, it seems that every single other stylist has more sense than Perpenna and Cornelius. _Well, I can always hope District 12 is naked again._

The roar of the crowd outside the gates of the Remake Center alerts me to the fact that the Opening Ceremonies are finally beginning. The giant doors slide open and first District 1 then District 2 ride out into the streets of the city. Then, it's our turn as our chariot lurches forward. Less than a minute into our journey, I realize that this will be the worst ordeal that I've f in my life up to this point. The giant robotic arm on my back is not only extremely heavy, but also extremely un-aerodynamic. It takes all of my strength and concentration to keep from toppling out of out chariot, as I cling to the railing for dear life. Somehow, I manage, and twenty minutes later we stop in front of President Snow's mansion at the City Circle. I'm hot, sweaty and exhausted.

While the Most Hated Man in all of Panem gives his welcome speech, I glance up at one of the giant television screens which are mounted everywhere in the City. What I see takes my breath away. The tributes from District 12 are literally on fire. They're not suffering any ill effects, though, so I quickly realize that the capes that they are wearing must contain difluorylaminoethylene, otherwise known as d-Flame. This curious substance, which we are quite familiar with back in District 3, burns at a cool 70 degrees. It has plenty of uses, especially in the higher-end entertainment products. And apparently, in Opening Ceremony costumes that absolutely "pown" everyone else's. The crowd absolutely loves them, oblivious to the fact that they've stolen a District 3 invention for their special effects.

This is the final straw. _Why oh why couldn't we have gotten _those_ stylists?_

It's only my extreme tiredness that keeps me from having another emotional breakdown as our chariot rolls into the Training Center. Crying takes too much energy. When we finally come to a stop, there is no one from our District 3 team in sight. Not Verity Phillips, who I haven't seen since she got distracted this morning in the Remake Center. Not our mentors. And not our stylists or prep teams. Possibly Perpenna and Cornelius realized how awful they are and are too ashamed to show their faces.

I quickly get down from the chariot. Our sleeping quarters will be on the third floor of the Training Center, and all I want to do right now is to get this ridiculous thing off of my back and collapse into my bed as quickly as possible.

Pixie, however, has other ideas.

"Come on, the elevators are right over there," I say, pointing to the glass columns toward which many of the tributes are now moving.

"We're supposed to wait for our escorts," mumbles Pixie, refusing to move.

"We might be waiting for a very long time."

I suppose the gentlemanly thing to do would be to stay with my partner until either one of our escorts appears, or she changes her mind. But I'm too tired and the thought of the bed is too tempting, so I just shrug and leave Pixie in the chariot.

I get into the first elevator I see, not paying attention to who I am following. Big mistake. I suddenly find myself shoved against the glass wall by the male tribute from District 1. "This is _our_ elevator," he sneers. I look around and realize that besides myself, only the two tributes from District 1 and their escort are in this car. Both tributes are even bigger than the Pyscho from District 2.

"There's plenty of room," says the girl irritably.

"Whatever. Just remember, once the Games start, I'm going to make you suffer for this mistake, District… 9, is it?"

"Three," corrects the escort, speaking for the first time.

"Well, District 3, if I were you, do you know what I would do? I'd step off my plate before the gong sounds and blow myself up. Because if I find you later, it's gonna be slow and painful." _Wow._ Apparently, all Careers are like this.

"Leave him alone. He's going to die in a few days anyways. No need to taunt him."

"Are you actually defending him? So you like little boys, is that it?"

"Of course not. You're just wasting everyone's time." The girl presses the button for 1 and the doors finally close.

With newfound respect, I look the girl in the face. It is only then that it dawns on me that she is the most beautiful girl I have ever seen. Her silver face is so flawless, she could pass for a doll. I bet people are already lining up to sponsor her. "Thanks," I mumble.

The boy smirks cockily as the doors open at the first floor. "I tell you what. If you give me some of your attentions before the Games start, I'll leave District 6 alone. We've still got a few days."

"That will never happen, so just give it up. And by the way, it's District _Three_." I hear the doll-faced girl retort just before the doors close.

I quickly press the button for 3 as I try to recover from my second run-in with a Career in less than a day. But it's impossible to deny the truth: _as long as the Careers are around, I don't stand a chance_.

When I enter the living quarters on the third floor, I am greeted by Beetee and Wiress. They're surprised to see me alone. "Where are Verity and Pixelle?" Beetee asks.

"I haven't seen Verity. Pixie was still on the chariot waiting for her when I left."

Beetee and Wiress exchange a horrified glance before Wiress quickly scurries to the elevator to go down and rescue Pixie.

"Can I take this thing off, please?" I ask Beetee. He nods, and helps me remove the harness that holds the robot arm. Then he leads me to my personal room and tells me I can get cleaned up before dinner.

I don't bother to clean up. I just take off the rest of my costume and collapse onto the giant bed.


	4. Chapter 4

_Sorry for the long delay. This is the longest chapter that I've written so far, and I struggled for a long time with the decision of whether to split it into two. I couldn't find a good place to do it without making one of the halves pretty boring. I'm still not entirely sure about the decision, but it's been 10 days since my last update and I don't want to keep you all waiting any longer. I promise the ever-lengthening chapter trend won't continue! Once again I don't own any of this, credits to Suzanne Collins for the series, JK Rowling for my story title, and Caisha702 and be-nice-to-nerds for their contributions to this universe. Extra disclaimer for this chapter: __BNTN - Pixie's opinions on the Opening Ceremony costumes are hers and do not necessarily reflect the views of the author!_

_Thanks to everyone who have been reading and reviewing! I love to hear from you!_

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Chapter 4

I awaken to find that it is already morning. I must have slept right through the whole evening and night. My dreams were again plagued with my impending demise in the Hunger Games. Last night, I tried to hide from the other tributes in a clump of bushes, but suddenly a robotic arm emerged from my backpack and pulled away the branches to reveal my location. Then the District 1 boy and District 2 girl took turns torturing me to death. _Five days left until it happens for real. _I shudder myself fully awake. Someone was in the room while I slept; my costume has been folded nicely on top of a dresser, and I was covered in an extra blanket since I fell asleep on top of the covers.

For the first time, I take in the sight of my private room in the Training Center. It's "giga", as we would say back in District 3. I'm fairly certain it has more square footage than my family's entire house. It's also packed to the brim with every kind of electronic gadget imaginable. All designed and produced in District 3, of course – not that anyone back home could ever dream of getting to use the products that they worked so hard to make. Everything exists for the pleasure of the Capitol. Another flash of hatred passes through me.

I realize that I'm still covered in green and gold paint, so I step into the shower and am confronted with a monstrosity of a control panel. There are over a hundred buttons for different options from the temperature of the water to the scent of the hair conditioner. Each one lights up after you select it, so for a while I simply amuse myself by making the panel spell out dirty words and experiencing the random effects on my shower program. Eventually I emerge clean but smelling like a fruit basket.

After I get dressed in an outfit that somehow fits me perfectly, I notice that there's a menu by the wall with a microphone next to it. Since the last meal I had was lunch yesterday at the Remake Center, I'm actually starving for once. Tentatively, I say the names of a few of the items into the microphone, and almost instantly a tray appears with my selections. As I eat, I wander over to the window and catch sight of the view. It's spectacular, but somehow it doesn't feel quite right. After a few moments, I realize that it's much too good of a view of the city for the third floor of the Training Center. That must mean that I'm looking at an artificial image from a camera mounted somewhere near the top. When I discover the controls that allow me to zoom in and out on different parts of the city, my suspicions are confirmed. _A window that's not really a window. How lame._

There's a knock on my door. I open it to find Beetee, who invites me down to breakfast. I think about telling him, "No thanks, I already ate," but something about his expression indicates to me that the invitation is not optional. Besides, even though I just consumed a huge tray of food, I'm still a little hungry. I did miss dinner last night, after all.

Pixie and Wiress reach the dining room at the same time as we do. I notice that there are seven place settings, but Verity, Perpenna and Cornelius are nowhere to be seen. There are, however, two Capitol servants who wordlessly beckon us to sit down. Once we do, they begin serving our food. I thank one of them after she spoons a heaping portion of scrambled eggs onto my plate, but she just nods in response.

Wiress notices me staring at the servant girl. "Avoxes can't speak," she tells me.

I assume that she means that they are forbidden to speak, but Beetee seems to read my mind and corrects, "Literally. Their tongues have been removed as punishment for a crime."

_Ugh. Thanks for ruining my appetite._

Pixie seems to be in a relatively cheerful mood. "You missed the replay of the Opening Ceremonies last night." I can tell from her tone of voice that there's something that she's been dying to tell me about.

"And?"

"We weren't the worst dressed! District 7 looked awful as trees, and then there was another district dressed as _cows_. And you should have seen the stupid-looking chess pieces!"

This is the most that Pixie has spoken for the entire 48 hours that I have known her. Also, I realize that she somehow picked up on my disappointment with our stylists. She's a smart girl. And she has managed to cheer me up a little.

As we eat, Beetee and Wiress explain the procedure for the next three days of training. After breakfast, Pixie and I will have individual meetings with our primary mentors: Beetee for me and Wiress for Pixie. This will be to discuss any specific strategies that we might not want the other to know about. Before we separate, however, they'll give us general training tips that we can both use. Just before ten o'clock, we will take the elevator to the underground gymnasium, hopefully escorted by Verity if she shows up by then. Our instructions for the first day are to try out several different stations and attempt to learn something that might be useful in the arena. See if we have an unknown talent for a specific weapon. And try to observe the other tributes and learn their strengths and weaknesses. We'll be expected to share our progress at dinner tonight.

My first private session with Beetee doesn't go well. It only takes a few minutes for Beetee to come to the disappointing realization that I have not, in fact, been hiding some secret weapons or survival skill from Pixie. I have no athletic abilities, and my hand-eye coordination is near the bottom of my class at school. I suppose it's also unhelpful that I'm not particularly receptive to any of his words of advice. Eventually Beetee gives up and turns the conversation to the electronic devices that he's been working on inventing. Well, at least it's an interesting topic to pass the time – not that I see any way it could be useful in the arena.

At 9:40, Verity Phillips shows up, looking extremely groggy as she helps herself to a cup of coffee. "Ready for your big day of training?" It's obviously requiring a great deal of effort on her part to fake some enthusiasm.

"Where were you last night?" Pixie asks sullenly as she and Wiress enter the room.

"Oh. You're not going to believe it! I got invited to a private party for the Opening Ceremonies! It was the 9th most prestigious party in the Capitol! It's the first time I've ever had an invite to the Top Ten!" Real enthusiasm this time. I guess we just had to find the right subject for Verity to discuss. Or maybe it's the coffee. At least that explains the bags under her eyes. Capitol parties run into the wee hours of the morning.

"What about being our escort?" I ask.

"Oh, that. Well, it looks like you managed just fine without me! I couldn't pass up the opportunity! Anyone would have made the same choice. A Top-Ten Party!"

_So glad to know that we are less important than a stupid party, Verity_. She's probably given up on us already. Unless…

"Did you find anyone to sponsor us?" Pixie asks. It's like she's read my mind again. Or more likely, had the same thought as me.

"Oh heavens no. A few people asked about your abilities, but since you don't have any strengths, they lost interest pretty quickly. And after the Opening Ceremonies… Did you see District 12? They were so amazing, if I were allowed to put money in, even _I'd_ sponsor them! The Boy and Girl on Fire!"

_So it _is_ that you've given up on us._ I'm so angry that, if I were a violent person, I probably would attack Verity Phillips. Instead, I react in my normal fashion, shutting my mouth and seething silently.

I don't say a word as Verity leads us into the elevator and presses the button for the basement. Unfortunately for me, Verity interprets my silence as nervousness, and her attempts at encouraging me actually remind me that I'll soon be meeting the twenty two other tributes face to face. And after my two brief encounters yesterday, I am definitely _not _looking forward to spending a whole day in the presence of the Careers. By the time the elevator doors open at the bottom, I'm on the verge of a panic attack.

Verity deposits us into the vast gymnasium and immediately retreats back up the elevator. Really? She dragged herself out of bed just for that? A thirty-second elevator ride? What a waste.

Pixie and I find ourselves in a very familiar position, standing timidly against a wall observing the others in the room. Many of the other tributes are already present, and more arrive through the elevator doors every minute. When the Careers from District 4 arrive, the boy immediately strides over until he's a mere inches away from us. He doesn't say a word as he towers over us, but instead growls menacingly before moving on to the next group.

I wonder if the Careers ever get together and swap intimidation tips. Compared to my experiences yesterday, District 4's manner isn't particularly scary, but his size and muscles do the job just fine. I glance at Pixie, who's shaking even more than I am.

My attention is drawn to a confrontation on the other side of the elevators. The brute from District 2 seems to be trying his hand at intimidating the redhead from District 5, but she's actually standing up to him. What happens next scares me out of my wits. From my position, I have a perfect view as I watch Psycho Girl pick up a knife from a table and throw it into the wall directly between her district partner and the redhead. A couple of inches either way, and one of them would be dead. The consequences of such an act would be severe; tributes are not allowed to touch each other before the Games, before our deaths can be televised live. So the District 2 girl must either be even crazier than I thought, or so good at throwing knives that she has no fear of missing her mark.

If she wasn't already at the top of my list of tributes to avoid at all costs, she is now.

I take a quick look at the other tributes. Most seem to be thinking the exact same thing as me. The District 2 girl smirks as she sees the looks on our faces, clearly feeding off of our fear.

The trainers arrive at that moment and call us over to pin squares with our district numbers onto our backs. This is actually pretty helpful; although I can tell the Careers apart, the Others all sort of blend together in my mind, except for the District 5 girl with her distinctive red hair.

When the trainers finish pinning the numbers on the tributes of District 11 – a towering giant of a boy and a tiny girl, the only tribute in the room smaller than Pixie and me – I notice that that there are still two pieces of fabric left with the number 12 on them. The tributes from the coal district have yet to arrive. The Careers grumble with impatience, realizing that we'll all have to wait for them.

It seems like an eternity of waiting, but the pair finally step off the elevator just before ten o'clock. They're dressed identically, which makes them immediately stand out from everyone else. While the trainers pin their numbers on, I study the girl whose face has been etched in my mind ever since the Reaping. The girl who did for her sister what my brother couldn't do for me. Without the fiery Opening Ceremony costume, though, she doesn't look like much. She's about average size for a non-Career girl, although she looks like she might be in better shape than the rest of us Others. _That's odd._ District 12 is the poorest of all the districts. (It's been said that people there eat coal dust to survive. Depending on who you ask, it's either a silly joke or pure truth.) I'm not really sure what to make of her.

It takes twenty minutes for the head trainer to go over the training rules and schedule, and to describe the various training stations. My heart sinks at the sheer number of different weapons and survival skills that are included. It could take someone years to master all of them. Just for me to try all of them out could take weeks. I have two and a half days.

After the head trainer finishes her introduction, the Careers immediately head over to the weapons stations. I quickly decide that I don't want to be anywhere near them so I end up at the edible plants station. It provides a good vantage point of the weapons stations, so as I listen to the trainer explain the number one rule of eating wild plants (if you're not sure it's safe, don't put it in your mouth), I sneak a peek at the Careers. The arrogant District 1 boy is viciously throwing spears into dummies, while the angry-looking District 2 boy is sword fighting three assistants at once with ease. The District 4 boy is putting on a show with a trident, while the District 4 mermaid-girl demonstrates her skill with the harpoon. The girls from District 1 and 2 are having a conversation at the knife-throwing station. As I watch, the Psycho One throws two knives in quick succession, burying the first in the middle of a target and the second into the handle of the first. _Yup. She really _is_ that good with knives_.

I see a movement out of the corner of my eye and realize that the redhead from District 5 has joined my station. Before she even settles down, though, she immediately copies me and starts observing the Careers. The Doll-face from District 1 has moved on to swords. Since the assistants are still occupied with District 2, she practices on her own, twirling the long blade around in effortless arcs. She may have stood up for me in the elevator last night, but there's no doubt; she's a trained killer. The girl from District 2 then gains everyone's attention with a dazzling display of knife throwing, nailing a dozen targets from an impossible distance in quick succession. When she caps it off by taking out a small rubber ball in mid-flight, the room gets so quiet, you could hear a pin drop.

The edible plants trainer coughs to get our attention and begins to identify plants one by one as "edible", "poisonous", or "neither." "Neither" is a category for plants which have no nutritional value, but won't kill you if you eat them, either. I force myself to pay attention even though my heart is racing with fear. There's no further doubt in my mind that the District 2 girl is the most dangerous of the tributes. The other Careers may have more size and strength for hand-to-hand combat, but who needs hand-to-hand when you can knife someone from thirty feet away? Unless one of the other tributes shows a hidden talent for a longer-ranged weapon like the bow and arrow, it will be no contest once the Games start.

After finishing the lesson on edible plants, I move on to edible insects and fire building. And then it's time for lunch. Just like that, one-fifth of the training is over. I've visited all of three stations, receiving just the most basic introduction on each subject.

* * *

Lunch is served in a room adjacent to the gymnasium. The Careers all eat together, while the Others mostly eat alone, myself included. Before they sit down, though, some of the Careers go around bullying the rest of us by taking food right off our tables. There's no point in standing up to them; to make yourself noticeable is to make yourself a bigger target. The giant from District 11 doesn't have this concern, though, since there's no way he can hide the fact that he's probably the only one of us Others who might be a match for a Career one on one. When District 1 tries to take a bowl of fruit from his tiny district partner, District 11 shoves the fruit away and stares him down. Remembering how he treated me yesterday on the elevator, I almost smile to myself when the Career backs away from the only tribute in the room that's significantly bigger than him.

As I eat, I turn my attention to District 12. They've been together all morning for training and lunch is no exception. They're chatting away as if they're the best of friends. Even as I watch, the blond boy tells the girl a joke and they both burst out laughing. It completely boggles my mind how they can be so friendly with each other. Don't they realize that one will have to die for the other to survive?

After lunch, we return to the gymnasium for the second training session. Psycho Knife Girl goes to the survival stations, so I immediately head in the opposite direction, to the weapons stations. Remembering my conclusion from the morning session that only someone with a long-range weapon could possibly take her out, I walk over to the strangely-deserted archery station.

The trainer gives me a lesson on how to hold and draw a bow. It seems simple enough as he demonstrates by hitting three bull's-eyes in succession. When I give it a try, though, I realize that it is much harder than it looks. It takes a _lot_ of strength to pull back the string, and the farther back you can pull the string, the faster and straighter your arrow will fly. Strength is something that I have very little of. On my first try, my arrow is so weak it doesn't even reach the targets. When I pull the arrow back as far as I can, my arms are shaking so much that I can't shoot straight. At the trainer's encouragement, though, I keep practicing, and eventually find a happy medium that gives me decent power and control.

I have just managed to hit my first bull's-eye when I hear a voice growl over my shoulder. My heart skips a beat as I turn to find that the Psycho Knife Girl's district partner has been observing me. "Not bad," he says, "but do you really think you will be able to grab a bow and arrow at the Bloodbath and survive long enough to fire more than a single shot?" He turns and leaves without another word.

My heart sinks. He's right; from the past Games that I've seen on TV, the best weapons are usually located right in the center of the Cornucopia. And when a bow and arrows is available – which is rare – it's generally among the most coveted of the weapons. If there _is_ a bow this year, there's no way I'd be able to get my hands on it and escape alive. There are only two other ways to get weapons: be given one by a sponsor, at an exorbitant price, or off a dead tribute, before the hovercraft claims the body along with his supplies. I'm unlikely to have enough sponsorship for even a knife, let alone something ridiculous like a bow, and the idea of me managing to kill a tribute who is armed with a bow and arrow is almost laughable.

The feeling of dread starts pressing down on me again as I move on to other weapons that I might have a more reasonable chance of acquiring. I try something I've never seen before called "None-Chucks", which consist of two sticks attached to each other by a chain. I quickly give that up after managing to hit myself in the head trying to copy the trainer's moves. And now I have a pounding headache to go with my ever-growing depression.

The rest of the afternoon training session is a disaster. I try several other weapons, from maces to boomerangs, but I'm hopeless at any of them. All require a combination of strength and coordination, the two traits that I lack the most. I give up trying to watch the other tributes, all of whom seem to be far more proficient at this than I am. What's the point of training? Can't they just kill me now and get it over with?

The last station that I try on the first day is knife-fighting. It's been one of the most popular stations all day, and for good reason. Knives are the easiest weapon to obtain, and the easiest to handle. Of course, unless you're an expert at throwing them like the Psycho Girl, you're pretty much limited to hand-to-hand combat, and someone with superior strength and reflexes can still defeat someone armed with a knife. On top of it all, when I practice against the trainer my stomach turns as I have to imagine for the first time trying to stab someone or cut their throat. For me to have any chance at winning, the Capitol expects me to become a killer, to take human lives. At the moment, I honestly do not know whether I can or want to go down that road.

By the end of the afternoon training session, I'm exhausted again, both physically from the training and mentally from the weight of the hopelessness of my plight. _I have four more days left to live_.

* * *

I leave the gymnasium with the black weight of despair draped all over me. I manage to avoid the Careers for the elevator ride this time, getting on a car with the girl from District 8 and the boy from District 9. They both look as defeated as I feel. No one says a word for the brief time it takes for the elevator to reach my floor. Here are two tributes that I might be able to kill in a fight, but do I really want their blood on my hands?

Once I get back to the third floor, I try to slip into my room unnoticed. I want to collapse on my bed. I want to cry myself to sleep again. The last thing I want right now is to meet with my mentors. But Beetee and Wiress are waiting for me to arrive, and they intercept me and drag me to the dining room. I groan to myself, realizing what is to come.

As soon as Pixie arrives a few minutes later, dinner is served and our mentors begin grilling us on what we learned today. Neither of us is in a mood to talk, but at Beetee's persistence we manage to share that we both noticed that the Careers are all good with weapons, and the District 2 girl is really _really_ good at throwing knives. Beetee rates this information as "passable", but emphasizes the need to know the preferred weapon for each of the other five Careers as well. I don't think he understands how little it matters. I'm fairly certain that any of them could pick up any weapon at random and singlehandedly use it to kill both me and Pixie without breaking a sweat.

Wiress, on the other hand, is more interested in our observations of the Others. She repeatedly questions us about Districts 5, 7, 11 and 12. To her dismay, neither Pixie or I have much to say about them. I remember that District 12 did everything together, but I can't even recall what specific stations they visited.

Pixie becomes more and more sullen as the conversation moves on to what stations we tried and what skills we learned. Finally, she snaps, "I learned that I'm no good at anything, okay?"

"At least you didn't hit yourself on the head with a None-Chuck." I guess I set out to try and encourage Pixie since she seems so depressed, but once the words leave my mouth I'm overwhelmed by my own dark thoughts. "What's the point?" I ask. "Even if we found a weapon that we were good at, our chances of actually getting our hands on it in the arena are virtually zero. The Careers are so much better than us."

"My dear boy, that is the precise reason that we must work so hard these few days," says Beetee. "Our district is at a disadvantage; that I cannot deny. It will require all your wits and cunning to succeed in this endeavor. To fail…"

"…is to die," completes Wiress. "Surely you do not wish to die?"

_Of course I don't want to die. But it's not like I have any say in the matter_. "We're already dead. We died the moment our names were picked at the Reaping."

As soon as the words are out of my mouth, Pixie bursts into tears. I almost want to take it back, but we both know that what I said is true.

Our mentors say nothing for the rest of dinner, realizing that their attempt at a pep talk has utterly backfired. Pixie goes to her room right after finishing her meal. I'm still staring at my almost untouched plate of food when I hear Wiress sigh and get up. District 3 will undoubtedly be seeing both tributes die on the first day for yet another straight year.

It's almost too much for me to handle. I think about everything that has led me to this place. My name being picked at the Reaping. Our mentors' disappointment in us. The lack of interest from the Capitol crowd. The disastrous Opening Ceremony costumes. And the total lack of concern shown by Verity. The one Capitol person who we were guaranteed to have on our side, and even she's already given up on us.

I wonder if there's any way I can skip tomorrow's training. Pretend to be sick or something. There's nothing that I'll be able to learn, anyways. Might as well find some way to enjoy the last days of my life. I'd still have to go through the private session the day after, though. And then the stupid interview. As for the Games themselves, I have a plan forming in my mind that vaguely involves charging directly at an armed Career during the Bloodbath. Those are usually the quickest and least painful deaths. The Careers don't have time to "put on a show" during the chaos. But later on… Some of the Careers in the past have shown to be the most sadistic killers. They would torture a helpless tribute for hours, much to the enjoyment of the Capitol audience. I remember one year the Careers had a contest in which each would take turns making the victims scream the loudest, without killing them. Whoever ended up accidentally dealing the death blow would be eliminated from the next round – the next time they found a victim, the unlucky Career would have to stand guard while the others got to have their fun. I can totally imagine Psycho Knife Girl enjoying something like that.

All things considered, a quick death doesn't seem to be such a bad option. But then what about my family? I promised them I wouldn't give up without a fight. But would it be better for them if I just got things over with quickly? I picture Matt's face and I know that it's not true. But his suffering is inevitable. If it doesn't come on day one, it'll come on day two, or day three. Yes, better to get it over with as soon as possible.

I'm so absorbed by my thoughts of misery that it takes me several minutes to realize that Beetee hasn't moved. When I finally look up and meet his eyes, he says, "It is so out of character for you to give up like this."

"You don't know me."

"Do I not?" This gets my attention. "You are Maxell Dyson. You are the younger brother of Intel Dyson, who for four years attended every single one of the little gatherings at my home. He spoke of you often."

"Intel… talked… about me?"

"Of course. You must have noticed that my philosophy on the Games is not very popular in District 3. When your brother persisted in his attendance, I asked him what his motivation was. He explained about his promise to you and your brother."

I'm completely floored by this revelation that Intel had talked to Beetee about me. Of course, I never asked Intel about the dinners, but I always just assumed that they only ever talked about the Games. Watching old replays. Discussing strategies. Maybe some practice with weapons or physical fitness. I never dreamed that Intel would be sharing the details of our family life. That the District 3 mentor would actually want to get to know his students. Like friends.

After a short pause to judge my reaction, Beetee continues, "Intel swore to protect both of you, that is true. But it was clear that you were his favorite. He admired your intelligence and your persistence in solving problems. He always said that if you could just get past the Reapings, you had a bright future ahead of you. He told me a story once about a particularly hard repair project, one that he had given up on, and yet you figured out the solution. Do you remember?"

Of course I remember that project. Mattel had dubbed it "The Mutt Project" because of how monstrous it became. Some Capitol administrator had brought his holographic television in to be repaired. It was a level of technology that we were not used to working with, but we had pledged to do our best. It took us three days to disassemble the television and figure out how it was supposed to work. Then we spent weeks trying to trace the source of the breakdown. Intel and Matt had given up early on and moved on to other projects, and finally even my father was ready to admit failure. I refused to give up on it, though. I just couldn't cope with the idea of losing to a piece of equipment. Even if it was unfixable, I needed to solve the puzzle and determine what the problem was. And eventually I had the inspiration that one malfunctioning component had led to the failure of two others. When I replaced all three, the holotelevision had worked perfectly. That was the moment we all realized that I had surpassed even my father in technical ability.

I nod in response to Beetee's question. "_That's_ the Maxell Dyson that I know. Not the defeated boy in front of me. What would Intel say if he saw you now? Your brother would have been a fighter."

_That is totally unfair._ How can he compare the two situations? Electronics was my strength. Something that I could claim to be the best at. Not tying knots or throwing spears. That's what the Careers are the best at. That's what they've trained their whole lives for. I think of Intel and the little amount of training that he was able to do – about an hour a day after he finished his work at the Shop. He certainly never had the chance to work on the majority of the stations that are here. He's never touched any of the weapons. Knowing the competition he would be up against, his chances would have been only marginally better than mine.

Anger finally unlocks my lips. "I bet just you're thinking what a pity it is that I didn't get chosen last year! Well I'm GLAD. I'm glad he's not here because the odds would never be in his favor! You think I would prefer to be at home watching him die?"

Beetee doesn't say anything for a while. Then quietly, he asks "Do you think he wants to see _you_ die? Do you think _I_ want to watch you die?"

There's such fervency in his voice that I actually stop for a moment and imagine what it would be like to be in his shoes. Year after year, watching helpless children from his district die despite his efforts to mentor them. In over 35 years of mentoring, he's had precisely two make it home. _That's_ why he tries to motivate people to train and volunteer. Not because he has been brainwashed by Capitol and enjoys the Games, but because he cares and wants us to survive. Intel was right all along.

Beetee sighs. "I am not your enemy. I am here to do everything in my power to help you get home alive, if you will allow me to. Just give me something to work with."

I can't look him in the eyes. Instead, I play with the broken microchip that Intel gave me to use as my token. "Beetee, the problem with the Hunger Games is that it's all about fighting with ancient weapons and surviving in the wild. I've never spent a single night without a roof over my head and a locked door to keep me safe. I tried a bunch of the different stations and there's nothing here that I'm good at. If survival depended on being able to rewire a circuit board, then I'd have a fighting chance. But there's almost never anything technological in the arena. The only thing with wires in the whole place is the…"

I trail off because an idea hits my mind like the blinding flash of a Peacekeeper searchlight, illuminating the darkness of District 3 to catch a thief who dared to break into one of the factories. No one to my knowledge has ever succeeded, but every now and then desperation drives one of the poorest citizens of our district to try. They're located and tracked almost immediately by night vision, of course. The beam of white light shone by the hovercraft when it finally catches up to the thief is merely for show. It draws the attention of everyone in the vicinity so they can witness firsthand the thief caught red-handed. And executed. For those not near enough, the whole thing is filmed and broadcast on the news. When I was seven years old, one was caught on the street right in front of my house. The sirens went off just when I was about to fall asleep. From the window, a white light brighter than the sun suddenly filled my room. I peered through the blinds just in time to see the man get shot.

That jolt is the only way I can describe the revelation that just exploded into my mind. _The land mines_. Packed with high explosives. The most powerful weapons in every arena. They surround each tribute at launch, forcing everyone to stay in place for exactly sixty seconds until the gong sounds. When the time is up, the land mines are deactivated and the Bloodbath begins. But those mines remain buried in the ground for the remainder of the Games (and presumably the rest of eternity since arenas are preserved as tourist attractions). No-one, I mean no-one, has ever considered digging them up before. _But what if? What if…_

"Beetee, what if I could reactivate the land mines?"

As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I realize that I can do it. If I were given the opportunity to disassemble a deactivated land mine, I'm sure I can figure out how it works. A land mine is not a particularly complicated piece of equipment. A pressure sensor sends a signal to the detonator. Somewhere along the circuit the mines used for the Games must have an additional control node so they can deactivate them remotely. It's certainly going to be far simpler than most of my repair jobs at home. I'm suddenly filled with a new feeling, a feeling that I had completely forgotten since that horrible moment almost three days ago when Verity read my name: hope.

My change in demeanor must have been noticed by Beetee, because he looks like he was about to say something, but thought better of it. Instead, after a moment's deliberation, he says, "What if, indeed."


	5. Part II: THE PLAN

___Thus begins Part II of this story. I'm no Suzanne Collins, so 9 chapters per part is a bit too much for me. Part II should be a little longer than part I though. I think it will have 6 chapters. The first one is a bit shorter, just setting the table for the rest of the section. _

___Dislaimer: Once again, I own nothing. Suzanne Collins owns the Hunger Games. The scenes of Districts 1, 2, and 5 are taken from "The Price of Beauty", "Love is a Battlefield" and "A Fox's View", all by the great **Caisha702**. The scenes of Districts 7 and 10 are based on "No One Left" and "Cripple" by **be-nice-to-nerds**_**.**

___Once again, thanks to everyone who reviewed! _

* * *

**Part II**

**"THE PLAN"**

Chapter 5

Beetee sends me to bed, promising to discuss my idea early in the morning. I can almost see the wheels turning in his brain as he tries to figure out a strategy, a way for me to take advantage of the one skill that I have just now realized that I possess.

I lie down on my bed but I find that despite my physical weariness, I can't fall asleep. My mind is racing as I recall all the different circuit boards that I have worked with back in the Shop. Of course, we have never touched anything related to weapons, since being found in possession of anything like that would have resulted in our entire family's execution. But the Shop has taught me that the same types of parts are used in different products to perform the same functions. I'm positive that if I opened up a land mine, I'd find familiar pieces.

I start to think of what it would be like if I actually could pull this off. I would have by far the most powerful weapons in the Games at my disposal. My odds would still be low, but this would definitely even the playing field a little. It doesn't matter how big or strong you are, if you step on a land mine, you still die. I could set traps, or at the very least protect myself with an impenetrable defense. I even begin to dream the impossible dream: me, Max Dyson, a scrawny kid from District 3, a contender in the Games.

I try to bring my thoughts back down to earth. The problem, of course, is how I could get my hands on the land mines. And hopefully a screwdriver. There are all kinds of useful tools in the Cornucopia, but I'd never survive the Bloodbath long enough to escape with a screwdriver. And since the Careers usually set up their main camp within sight of the Cornucopia, it's not like I could come back later and dig up the mines. There must be a solution, but it's eluding me tonight. Maybe Beetee will think of something.

Thinking of Beetee reminds me of his hesitation when he reacted to my idea. What was he going to say? That it was impossible? That the Capitol wouldn't allow it? Is he actually trying to devise a strategy for me? Or is he humoring me because I've finally got a little bit of spirit and might go down fighting? These thoughts plague my mind as I drift off to sleep.

_I'm in a shelter that I've somehow managed to build. All around it are land __mines, completely active. I see the other tributes, armed to the teeth with knives and spears and clubs. They've finally tracked me down and they all rush in to try to kill me. One by one, the __mines explode and vaporize my foes. I hear cannons sound indicating their deaths. BOOM, BOOM, BOOM, BOOM, BOOM!_

I'm abruptly awakened as I realize that what I thought were cannon blasts was actually someone pounding on my door. The light from the window indicates that it's barely daybreak. I roll off my bed and groggily open the door. Beetee's standing in the hallway, and it doesn't look like he has slept at all. "Come on. We have a lot to discuss before your official training starts. Let's watch the sunrise from the roof."

I throw on a jacket over my robe and follow Beetee to the elevator. It's a chilly morning, but the view is incredible. It's actually not much better of an angle than the so-called "window" in my room, but the fact that I'm seeing it with my own eyes rather than some video image projected into my room makes everything so much more vivid. Plus, I can turn and see 360 degrees in every direction. Beetee steers me over to a small garden, complete with wind-chimes, and points out one of the flowers to me. As I lean over, he whispers to me, "You will not mention 'land mines' again to anyone, either inside the building or in the gymnasium. If you take the Gamemakers by surprise, they'll most likely let it go because people will be impressed by your ingenuity. But if they hear about your plans beforehand, they will likely redesign the mines to explode if someone attempts to tamper with them. Now, let's watch the sunrise and go back downstairs to discuss your game plan."

The sun rising over the shining city of the Capitol is breathtaking. One moment, the mountain peaks that make up the eastern border of the city are lit up as if they were in flames, and then the next, the blazing sun illuminates the entire metropolis. Every single ray of light is reflected again and again by the sparkling buildings. It's exactly like Mayor Gates describes in his speech every year about the glorious nation of Panem that arose from the ashes of America, before the Dark Days. In the early morning, there is virtually no activity, and I realize that the city itself is beautiful. It's the people who fill it that I loathe.

Back in the warmth of our floor's lounge, Beetee begins to describe his plan for me. "Firstly, you must keep the pretense of being completely weak and clueless. Everyone is already convinced that you are no threat, so do nothing to change their assessment. For training, continue the same pattern as yesterday. Keep attempting to learn new weapons. You will appear pathetic with very little effort on your part. And continue to appear intimidated by almost every one of your fellow tributes. Tomorrow for your private session, show off your weapons 'skills' for the Gamemakers. That should earn you a suitably low score."

So Beetee wants me to aim for a deliberately low training score. It certainly isn't the first time that someone has tried that tactic. But…

"I'm not going to have any sponsors," I say glumly.

"Sponsorship will have come later in the game, after you demonstrate what you intend to do. The wiser sponsors are more patient; they will wait until the abilities and strategies of each tribute become apparent before parting with their money. It is those sponsors that I will attempt to convince that you have something amazing planned. Consider this: the majority of the bets are placed on the highest-scoring tributes. Who are typically the highest-scoring tributes?"

"The Careers."

"Correct. Now, if the majority of the bets are placed on the Careers, who stands to benefit the most if the Careers all lose?"

"The casinos."

"And who are some of the richest people in the Capitol?"

"The casino owners."

"Correct!"

I guess Beetee has a point. The training score isn't so important. If everything goes according to plan, there will be people with the money and the motivation to sponsor someone capable of taking out the Careers.

Beetee continues with his lecture. "The second thing that you must do is to get into the game mentally. You are off to a poor start, so you must make up for it now by paying close attention to everyone else. Figure out what their strengths and weaknesses are, because once make your move, you will need to find ways to lure them into your traps. Pay special attention to the Careers: not only their best weapons, but also their interactions with each other."

I ponder Beetee's instructions. He's right; I've been so focused on self-pity since the Reaping that I have barely made note of the other competitors. That will have to change starting today, but I still don't have a clue how I'm supposed to get access to the land mines. I open my mouth to ask, but Beetee holds up his hand to silence me. "Follow the first two steps today, and I'll reveal the rest of the plan to you after dinner tonight."

There is still an hour before breakfast, so Beetee and I decide to replay the Reapings, since I paid so little attention the first time. It's a completely new experience, watching the Reapings after having seen the other tributes firsthand and even interacting with some of them already. The program shows the stampede from District 1 again. The boy seems every bit as arrogant as he was in the elevator. Doll Face is even more beautiful without the silver body paint, but I notice that she didn't win the race to the stage. Maybe the Capitol escort was distracted by her beauty. I see a hint of surprise and reluctance as he selects her out of the mob. It almost looks like she might have been having second thoughts about competing, though she hides it quickly. The boy from District 2 looks no less imposing on television as he did in person, but it is Psycho Knife Girl that surprises me. Encountering her fearsome skills and attitude the past two days has made me forget that she was in fact reaped, and not a volunteer. The camera catches her stunned reaction; she has to be pushed from behind before she steps out of the section for 17-year-olds. She wipes her face of emotion so quickly that most viewers probably wouldn't have noticed her reaction, but having gone through the exact same experience a mere thirty minutes later, I know what to look for. In that moment, she seems almost human.

As Beetee fast-forwards past my own Reaping, I ponder the absurdity of what I have just witnessed. Not one, but two Careers being less than completely eager participants? This is what they've spent their lives preparing for! There must be something more going on that I can't begin to understand. Regardless, both seem to have gotten over it by the time I encountered them.

District 4 has a fairly complicated procedure for selecting volunteers. Apparently each eligible child is given a ticket with random number during registration, or maybe just the ones who want to volunteer. After the Capitol escort picks a name out of the Reaping Bowl and asks for volunteers, a number of candidates approach the stage. The winner is the volunteer holding the ticket with the lowest number. In comparison to Districts 1 and 2, the tributes from District 4 don't seem nearly as well trained, but both are quite eager to represent their district.

The redheaded girl from District 5 seems to already be formulating a plan as she steps up on stage, while the boy looks as hopeless as I did. I remember Wiress' interest in the district last night. I wonder if it wasn't because of the expression on the face of the girl. Suddenly I remember the confrontation from yesterday morning. I had completely forgotten the redhead's involvement because of Psycho Knife Girl's display of knife throwing. If District 5 is willing to stand up to a Career during training, she certainly hasn't given up.

The boy from District 6 just looks kind of dazed, while the girl is clearly on the verge of tears when the camera cuts away from her. The show moves on to District 7, and my attention is immediately drawn to the spiky-haired former champion, Johanna Mason. Her weakling act was legendary; if I can pull off something half as convincing as hers, I'd be in pretty good shape.

Beetee must have seen that I was lost in thought, because he pauses the show halfway through District 8 and rewinds it back to show the District 7 selections. "Beware of the boy," he tells me. I look at the screen in surprise. The black-haired boy tribute doesn't look like much as he tries to force a smile onto his face. At my quizzical look, Beetee continues. "Johanna Mason was not scheduled to mentor District 7 this year. She specifically requested a change so she could mentor that boy. He is a relative of hers."

Relatives of victors get reaped far too often to have happened by chance. The announcers always speculate that perhaps the family is just particularly unlucky, but no one really believes them. Outside of the Career districts, not one younger sister or son or nephew of a former champion has ever won. Still, if Johanna Mason is his mentor, he'll be dangerous.

We continue on to watch the remainder of the Reapings. The next four districts show me little new that I didn't see during the first day of training yesterday. I note that the girl from District 8 doesn't seem too bright, naively smiling and waving at the prompting of her district representative. The boy from District 9 is a volunteer, which isn't particularly shocking. Nearly every year, one or two kids from the Other districts participate in the Games by choice, deluded into thinking they have a good chance to win. (Except for District 12, of course. Because no one ever wins from District 12.) More often than not, they don't make it past the Bloodbath, but if they do, they can be dangerous, because they believe in themselves. But then again, both of them looked like they had gotten a harsh dose of reality by the time they got on the elevator with me after yesterday's training.

The boy from District 10 has a crippled leg, and he looks particularly pathetic as he slowly limps toward the stage. I didn't notice his disability yesterday, but then again, I wasn't exactly paying careful attention to any of the other tributes. The girl is pretty unremarkable. District 11, of course, provides the both largest and the smallest of the tributes. I already know the boy is capable of staring down a Career, but the tiny 12-year old girl doesn't look like she could even harm a cockroach.

And then we're back at District 12. I watch the little blond girl get her name called, her sister sprinting down to stop her from going up on stage. As I watch the younger girl try to tackle her older sister for the second time, I realize that I can now begin to understand what she was feeling. I don't think I would have reacted in the same way had Intel volunteered for me, but if Mattel had tried… And even with Intel, it would have been horrible watching him try to fight with such immensely poor odds of winning.

I turn my attention to the blond boy as he takes his place next to his fellow tribute. For the first time I notice that he's pretty well-built, and certainly fairly well-fed. It definitely seems like those two are among the top competitors outside of the Careers. Add in the impression that they made on potential sponsors at the Opening Ceremonies, and District 12 could actually be a factor in this year's Games. They hardly look friendly enough to be holding hands one night later, though.

After the program is completed, Beetee and I spend a few minutes comparing our mental notes, and identifying the most likely threats. The six Careers, of course. Then the girl from District 5, the boys from Districts 7, 9 and 11, and both from District 12. Beetee instructs me to pay special attention to these twelve, but not to be oblivious to the others, either. I have a lot of work to do, since this will be the second and final full day of training; the private sessions will take up much of tomorrow.

A flash of white in the doorway catches my eye. I look over to see Pixie staring at us, her wide eyes red from crying all night. Without a word, she quickly retreats down to the dining room. Suddenly I remember all of the negative comments that I made at dinner last night. _Crap.__ What am I going to do about her?_

"Pixie?" I ask Beetee.

He sighs. "It would be inadvisable to involve her in our plans at this point, but you will not be able to hide the fact that you have discovered a source of hope. I think you owe it to her to attempt to undo some of the damage that you have done in the past few days."

I know that Beetee is right. Pixie may be my competitor once we reach the arena, but she's also the person other than myself that I would most want to win. And we've probably done as good of a job mentally defeating each other as the Careers have with their intimidation attempts. It's time I broke that cycle of negativity.

* * *

_Caisha and BNTN: sorry, I couldn't resist writing my own rooftop scene! It's a wonder Katniss and Peeta never managed to meet anyone, the way we've all turned it into a subway station for tributes. _


	6. Chapter 6

_Thanks to everyone who has been reading and reviewing. It's still hard for me to believe that you all like this story enough to add it to your story alerts, too, so thanks to those of you even if you haven't commented! I welcome all kinds of comments, so even if you have some kind of constructive criticism I'd like to hear from you._

_Disclaimers: I don't own any of this. Suzanne Collins wrote _The Hunger Games_, she owns all the characters, even the ones that she never gave names to. The character of Vincent who appears is this chapter is what you might call an OCC - an original canon character. His name and backstory were invented by **be-nice-to-nerds**_**, **_from her awesome stories "Cripple", "No One Left", and "From Fearful to Fearsome". The portrayal of District 10 is also taken from "Cripple." The portrayal of Foxface is taken from "A Fox's View" by **Caisha702**, whose stories have inspired me, and in whose universe I have chosen to set this tale._

_If you're re-reading this, I've updated a paragraph to match the events of "From Fearful to Fearsome", which hadn't been completed when I originally published this. The character of Abbie was invented by BNTN._

* * *

Chapter 6

Breakfast proves to be an ordeal. Pixie exudes an attitude of despair that could bring down the mood of the happiest wedding celebration. Yesterday it would have been simple for me to mirror her expression and feed off of the darkness, but today my goal is to resist and try to lift her spirits if I can. Wiress immediately recognizes the change in my body language. "The boy has found some hope. You should try to do the same," she tells Pixie, before Beetee cuts her off with a glare from under his glasses.

"Beetee convinced me that it's worthless to go down without a fight."

My comment backfires completely as Pixie visibly blanches at the word "worthless". This is why I generally don't say much. I'm terrible with words. "I mean, as long as we're still alive, we have a chance, right?"

Pixie just glares at me. My improved outlook on the Games is only making her feel worse about herself. I have no idea what I can possibly do for her, so it's probably a good idea for me to shut up now.

After breakfast we break up again for our private sessions. There isn't much for Beetee and me to discuss, since we covered almost everything in our meeting before breakfast, so Beetee ends the session early and sends me to my room to prepare for today's training.

Verity doesn't bother to show up this morning, so at exactly 10 o'clock Pixie and I board the elevator. Pixie won't look at me and I can't think of anything helpful to say anyway, so we ride down to the basement in silence. I take a deep breath as the doors open to the gymnasium.

Everything looks exactly the same as it did yesterday, from the training stations to the tributes, but the experience feels completely new to me. There's still an impossible number of training stations, but I'm no longer concerned about finding a weapon talent. I've chosen my weapons, and there's no training station for those down here. I just have to trust that Beetee will come up with a plan to get them into my possession. And the Career tributes are slightly less intimidating now that I have a way of fighting them. Yesterday, I was a scared tribute with no hope against the Careers. Today – well, I'm still a pretty scared tribute, but at least I have something that gives me a chance to compete.

There is no group lecture to start off day two. Everyone just heads immediately to their station of choice and begins training. I choose shelter building as my first station, and it's actually quite enjoyable for me. You need to understand physics to construct a proper structure, and the problem-solving skills needed are quite similar to that of working on electronics: figuring out what works and what doesn't. Of course, if shelter building was the only skill you needed, it wouldn't be the Hunger Games – it would be the Shelter Games.

I spend the rest of the morning trying out some of the other stations, but mostly following Beetee's instruction to observe the other tributes. I notice that the Careers are no longer showing off to intimidate the Others, but are actually focused on practicing with their best weapons. The Others are rotating around to different stations, no doubt following instructions to "learn something new". I try to go through the list of tributes to pay attention to, but none of them are doing anything that stands out. Except for District 12, who are once again wearing matching clothing and continue to be joined at the hip at every station. The Gimp from District 10 catches my attention, though, as he attempts and fails spectacularly at the climbing wall. My immediate reaction is to feel pity for his condition, but something just doesn't add up. It takes me until almost lunchtime before I realize that someone who is having as much trouble walking as Gimpy does would never even consider attempting to climb. Is it possible that he's exaggerating his disability?

In the lunchroom, I position myself at a table off to one side where I can observe the other tributes, especially the Career table. I figure lunch will be one of the best times to see how the six all interact with each other. Unfortunately, my plans are interrupted by the dark-haired boy from District 7, who moves to stand on the opposite side of my table, directly in my line of sight.

"Hi there," he says in a friendly voice.

I look up and see that he's flashing me a warm smile, one that clearly radiates _"__Would you like to be my friend?"_ Alarm bells go off in my head. This is Johanna Mason's relative, the tribute she's specially mentoring. I'm in dangerous territory.

"Um, hi?"

"Mind if I join you for lunch?"

I consider my options. If I agree, I will probably have to talk to him. I'll give him the opportunity to execute his game plan, to try and con me like Johanna did to her competitors. I also give him a chance to figure me out. Third, it will be very difficult if not impossible for me to make conversation and observe the Careers closely at the same time. On the other hand, rejecting him could offend him and give him a reason to target me in the arena. I'm going to have a hard enough time trying to outwit the Careers, I don't need Others specifically interested in taking me down as well. Anyways, I'm supposed to act intimidated of everyone. Intimidated people don't say "no".

I nod timidly.

"Thanks! I'm Vincent," he says, holding out his hand.

"Max." I shake his hand, but don't offer any more pleasantries. If he wants to play his little game, fine, but I'm not going to give him much help.

We eat in silence for about a minute. I'm just about to peek over at the Career table when District 7 speaks up. "So, District 3. Factories, huh?"

"Yeah. District 7 is lumber?"

Thus begins the small talk. We chat for a while about life in our respective districts. I try to be as general as possible in order to avoid talking about my skill in the Shop, but it's hard to avoid opening up. Even though we are adversaries, in a way, we're both kindred spirits. Two kids ripped from their homes and put into this life or death situation for the entertainment of the Capitol. Eventually Vincent asks about my family. I tell him about my parents and my brothers, although I downplay my role in helping out in the Shop. It also gives me an opening to ask him about Johanna, and to test to see if he'll lie to me.

"What about you, do you have any family at home?" I ask.

"No, almost all my family is dead. I only have one family member left, and she's actually here in the Capitol."

I try to put an expression of confusion on my face, but I'm not sure how convincing it is. "What do you mean? Like she works here?" Normally, people are never allowed to leave their districts, unless you're a Hunger Games tribute. A few select people have jobs that require working in the Capitol. At least, that's the way it works in District 3, since we design all the technology, and the people of the Capitol wouldn't be able to understand how anything works without someone from District 3 to consult. I can't imagine why someone from the lumber district might be needed, though.

Vincent looks at me like I'm crazy for suggesting the idea. "No. Johanna is here as my mentor."

"Johanna… Mason?" Trying to pretend around this guy is _hard_.

"Yeah. She's my cousin. Pretty unlucky, huh? Now, I know what you're thinking. But it's not like that. I can't put on an act the way she did."

_Well, at least you're being honest about your connection to Johanna_. "So what are you trying to do, make friends?"

"I guess so. There's no reason we have to fight each other, at least at the beginning. Not with _those_ six around." He tilts his head toward the Career table, which I've completely neglected to pay attention to.

"Are you proposing an alliance?"

"Not exactly. More like a… non-aggression pact. 'I won't attack you if you don't attack me,' that kind of thing. I've already got deals in place with Teagan – she's my district partner – and also the girl from Nine and the boy from Five. So, what do you think?"

I'm not sure I trust him to keep his word, but I don't see any benefit in refusing. "Okay. But what happens if we end up being the last two?"

"Then we'll fight each other fairly and honorably."

_Yeah, sure. "Fairly."_ Vincent may not be much compared to the Careers, but he'd definitely have the upper hand against me in single combat. And I've seen him at the axe-fighting station. If he had one in his hand, I wouldn't stand a chance.

"Besides," he adds, "one or both of us will likely end up being on the wrong side of the tree long before it would come down to that."

His statement is incomprehensible to me. "The wrong side of what?"

"Oh, it's an expression we have back in District 7. It means to be killed. You know, like if you were standing on the wrong side of the tree when someone chops it down."

"Ah. I get it. In District 3 we say 'geegee'. I think it means like 'game over' or something…"

We spend the rest of lunch discussing our local slang terms and their equivalents in each other's districts. I know I can't trust Vincent, but he seems so sincere that I really wish that I could. I wish I could have met him outside of the Hunger Games and seen if this is his true self. Anger boils up inside me again. The Capitol is responsible for this. They don't just make bitter enemies fight to the death, they make people who might have become friends do the same.

* * *

After lunch, I get busy embarrassing myself "trying" to learn some new weapons techniques. There's one for throwing loops of rope called lassos. If you can get one around an unsuspecting tribute's neck, it's "geegee" for him. Even pinning his arms would be helpful. Of course, my aim is terrible and I manage to smack the instructor standing next to me while I was trying to throw a loop around a practice dummy ten feet away. Mortified, I move to something called a "Shack-Ram", which is a metal ring that is supposed to have a sharpened edge and can be thrown hard enough to decapitate an enemy from 30 feet away – not that the practice ones have any sort of blade. While the instructor teaches me the basics, I take a glance around at the others. Vincent is having a friendly conversation with Pixie at the camouflage station. No doubt he's working on adding another non-aggression deal. District 12 are together at the spear-throwing station, while the boy from District 9 is having a go at the throwing-stars station. The redhead from District 5 is working on making a hammock, while the giant from District 11 is doing some weightlifting. As I watch, Mermaid Girl from District 4 approaches him and tries to start a conversation, but he shakes her off pretty quickly. That's interesting; usually the Careers just stick to their traditional alliance of six. Satisfied that I know what the key tributes are doing, I refocus my attention on the Shack-Ram.

The instructor has noticed that my attention is elsewhere, but he's quite polite about it. I think he understands the importance of keeping tabs on everyone else. He patiently repeats his explanation of how to twirl and launch the metal ring at a target. He doesn't even flinch when my first attempt ends up flying in the exact opposite direction that I wanted it to go. If I didn't hate him so much, he might actually be a likeable fellow.

The rest of the afternoon passes in the same pattern. Try a new station, peek around the room, and then fail miserably at the skill that I'm supposed to learn. By the end of the day, my weapon skills are just as hopeless as they were yesterday. However, I have a lot of observations about my fellow tributes to share with Beetee.

I'm unsure whether to save my insight for the private session, but Beetee and Wiress immediately ask us to share about our training experiences over dinner. Verity Phillips, who has joined us for the first time since guiding us to the gymnasium yesterday morning, actually shows some interest as she listens. I list the various stations I tried with limited success today. Pixie does the same, with even less enthusiasm than she had yesterday. When our mentors ask about the other tributes, though, it's Pixie who speaks up first.

"Max had lunch with Vincent from District 7."

_Damn_. I guess it was too obvious not to be noticed. Besides the Careers and District 12, we were the only tributes who sat together.

"He came up to me. I didn't want to be rude. I noticed you were pretty friendly with him at the camouflage station."

"He said he wouldn't attack me if I don't attack him. That makes one person that I don't have to worry about killing me!" I can hear the tone of accusation in her screech.

"I won't kill you, either." The words come out of my mouth before I even think about what I'm saying.

A sigh draws my attention back to our mentors. Wiress frowns; Beetee keeps his face expressionless but I can see the disapproval in his eyes.

"Wonderful! A District 3 alliance! Now you two can help each other!" Oh, how I've missed Verity's ill-conceived comments. Seriously, has this woman ever heard of tact?

"I think 'alliance' may be too strong of a word. It's highly unusual for tributes of the same district to fight each other, in any case." Once again, Beetee is the voice of reason. Tributes from District 3 almost never fight each other on purpose. It's the sort of thing that only happens amongst the Careers. In the entire history of the Hunger Games, one tribute from District 3 has killed the other exactly once: a psychopath named Abbie, five years ago - to the everlasting shame of her family. It might have cost her her chance to win, too, since she made it to the final three. And no tribute from District 3 has made it past the first day since. Some are calling it "The Curse of Abbie".

We continue our discussion of the other tributes for the rest of dinner. I reveal my observations that the boys from District 1 and 2 spent most of training at the stations for both swords and spears, though District 1 seems to have a slight preference for spears while District 2 looked better at swords. The boy from District 4 is best at tridents – no doubt influenced by the legendary Finnick Odair, who almost ten years ago was the youngest tribute to ever win, thanks to the trident he received from a sponsor. The girls from 1 and 4 don't seem to have any definite weapons preferences, though if I had to pick one, I'd say swords for Doll Face and tridents for Mermaid Girl. And of course we already know about Psycho Knife Girl. The redhead from District 5 has kept almost exclusively to survival stations.

"She's worthless," says Pixie.

"What?"

"I took two of the quizzes at the same time as her, she failed them both badly."

_Hmm. Maybe she's not much of a threat after all._

Neither of us have much recollection about the boy from District 5 or either of the tributes from District 6. When we move on to District 7, Beetee reminds us that Johanna Mason is Vincent's mentor and we need to be careful with him. He doesn't elaborate further, but he narrows his eyes at me to indicate that there will be more to come in my private session. Both Pixie and I remember that he's pretty good with axes.

There's nothing to report from Districts 8 and 9. I kept an eye out for the boy from District 9, but although I know which stations he tried, he never demonstrated any particular skill in any of them. I mention seeing Gimpy from District 10 trying the wall, but I don't remember anything about the girl.

For District 11, I report how the boy kept mostly to the survival stations, and rejected the Careers several times when they approached him individually. But it's Pixie that provides a surprising bit of information: the girl has been tagging along with District 12. I rack my brain to recall my memories of District 12, and I realize Pixie's right. Every time I saw them today, the tiny girl was somewhere close by. I never noticed, but Pixie did.

We conclude our dinner discussion with District 12. I list the stations that I saw them attend. They never showed any particular skill, either. If they hadn't been notable for doing everything together, they would have been completely forgettable. But Verity contributes that the unofficial sponsorship buzz has them right up there with Districts 1 and 2. District 4 is a distant fourth in popularity right now. Thankfully, she stops there, so we don't discuss just how bad District 3 might be.

When we split up after dinner, Beetee stares at me in silence for a long time before finally speaking.

"So, District 7. I assume you have a similar treaty with him as Pixie does?"

"Yeah."

"You are both fools. Johanna Mason is the most cold-hearted woman that I know, outside of the Career victors. You can be sure that her tribute will use every possible psychological trick to his advantage."

"He told me Johanna was his cousin. He didn't try to hide it."

"Of course he didn't. Do you remember the interviews back in District 7 when she reached the final eight?"

I think back to watching Johanna's Games when I was ten years old. Suddenly, I remember them interviewing her friends back home. And her lone family member. A twelve-year-old boy with black hair and a warm smile. The same boy who just ate lunch with me. For a moment, I'm stunned.

"They interviewed him," I gasp.

"Yes. So his relationship with Johanna is common knowledge. Is that how he won your trust?"

Ashamed, I nod meekly.

"Now, do you remember what her friends said about her when they were interviewed?"

I shake my head.

"They told stories of how she got into fights at the Community Home and was perfectly capable of taking care of herself. Her weakling persona was an act, from beginning to end it was an act."

"I don't think Vincent is acting, though."

"That is irrelevant. Either way, he has already got you emotionally attached to him. He has gotten you to make a promise to him. If you keep your word, it gives him an advantage should he break his. If you do not, you will suffer the emotional consequences of breaking your word to him. Your best hope now is that someone else kills him quickly."

Beetee pauses to let that sink in. Then he sighs.

"Maxell Dyson, if you are to find a way to win, you must keep yourself from becoming emotionally connected to any of the others. If you start thinking about them as people, you will not be able to do what needs to be done to survive. That is simply the way things are. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Beetee."

"Good. Now, tell me about the Careers – not their weapons skills, but their interactions with each other."

I may have missed an opportunity to observe all six of them together during lunch, but I did keep an eye on their one-on-one interactions during the afternoon. Actually, it would have been difficult _not_ to notice the friction between the angry brute from District 2 and his counterpart from District 4.

"I don't think the alliance is very strong. The boys from Two and Four are fighting. The girl from District 2 is pretty close with her partner, though. Um… the girl from District 1 hates her partner."

Beetee ponders my observations. "If Two and Four were to split, which way do you think the District 1 tributes would go?"

I have to think about this for a while. The boy from District 1 seems pretty chummy with the boy from Four. "I think the boy from District 1 would side with District 4, but the girl would side with District 2," I say finally.

"That may be useful information. Now, I am going to tell you why it is so important that you understand the Careers." He waits for my nod of acknowledgement before continuing. "I have thought carefully about your idea, and considered all the possible courses of action…"

My pulse quickens as I realize that Beetee is about to reveal his master plan for me to get my hands on the land mines.

"In order for you to gain access to the tools that you will need to compete in the Games, the only feasible option is to join the Career alliance."


	7. Chapter 7

_Merry Christmas everyone! Continued thanks for all your kind reviews. I'll be without a computer or internet for a few days next week, so this may be the last update until around New Year's. Anyways, on to the story. As usual, I don't own anything. Suzanne Collins owns the Hunger Games. **Caisha702** and **BNTN** inspired me with their stories, and I probably would never have gotten this far without their support._

* * *

Chapter 7

Complete and utter shock. That is my reaction to Beetee's proposal. _Me? Ally with the Careers? Those are the six people in all of Panem that I most desperately want to avoid!_ Not to mention, at least half of them have already threatened me with a painful death if I were to cross paths with them in the arena. My mentor has lost his mind. No, check that – he never intended to help me all along. He just wants to get me killed.

When I finally locate my voice, this is what I say: "You're joking."

"Certainly not. Allow me to explain the logic behind my decision. Firstly, we are banking our hopes on your ability to retrieve certain items that will be located at the Cornucopia. Can you acquire these items immediately and flee the Bloodbath?"

_Of course not. _The items in question are buried in a vast circle around the Cornucopia.

"No."

"No. You will not survive the Bloodbath if you attempt to acquire these items immediately. So you must return to the Cornucopia later and hope to access them. Now, where does the Career alliance almost always make camp for the first few days?"

"Near the Cornucopia."

"And why is that?"

"Because all the supplies are there."

"Correct. The Gamemakers generally provide enough supplies for all twenty four tributes to last several days. However, because of the Bloodbath, the supplies are not distributed evenly. Over ninety percent of the supplies will be controlled by six tributes. It would take much effort to move all the supplies to a remote location."

"Sometimes they have to." When the Gamemakers have been cruel enough to provide no water source in the vicinity of the Cornucopia, forcing all tributes to locate water, the Careers set up camp at the first water location they can find. Then there's hours of trudging back and forth moving all the food and most of the weapons and other supplies. Of course, this takes time and energy away from the Careers, which would otherwise be spent hunting tributes. Since it's rare for Others to fight amongst themselves in the first few days, it makes for pretty boring television. Unless the arena itself is interesting enough to make up for it. So usually the Gamemakers keep things easy for the Careers.

"Are you willing to commit your survival on the remote possibility that the Careers will set up camp elsewhere? What will you do if that doesn't happen?"

"Wait for them to leave?" I suggest without much hope.

"Well, the Careers certainly will leave to go hunting. But will they be foolish enough not to leave a guard for their supplies? The odds are almost nil." Beetee speaks with the authority of one who has anticipated all my objections and has prepared a rebuttal for each of them. "This would leave you with two possibilities. Either you create a diversion of sufficient intensity to occupy the guard for the length of time required for you to obtain what you need, or you defeat the guard in single combat. Are either of these feasible?"

I shake my head. I would need fifteen, maybe twenty minutes to dig up just one of the land mines and flee the scene. Working alone with virtually no supplies, there's no way I could engineer something that could buy me that much time. And the idea of me ambushing and killing a trained Career is laughable. Besides, even if by some miracle I managed it, the unexpected cannon would probably bring the rest of the pack back to the Cornucopia immediately.

"It is true that later on in the Games, once much of the food has been consumed, the Careers will abandon their camp and go on the hunt full time. However, you would have to both survive on your own in the wild, and avoid the Careers long enough to implement your plan. How do you intend to do so? You have demonstrated very little in terms of both survival skills and fighting techniques. Our sponsorship prospects are poor, at least until you reveal your plan to the audience."

With that, Beetee has swiftly eliminated all my other options.

"Now let us consider the benefits of my proposed plan. If you are accepted into the Career alliance, you will not have to worry about them hunting you. You will also gain access to their food and water. Most importantly, you will have all the time you need to tinker with your weapons and get them to work."

"But why would they agree to ally with me?"

"You can provide an invaluable service to them. You can offer protection for their supplies, allowing all of them to hunt."

This may be true, but Careers have protected their supplies just fine for years without the help of land mines. "How can we be sure they'll say 'yes'?"

"We cannot be sure of anything in the Games. However, we have systematically ruled out your alternatives. Sometimes the greatest reward comes with the highest risk. Have you heard of the term 'gambit'?"

I shake my head.

"It is a strategic move sometimes used in a game of chess. The player sacrifices a pawn early in the game in order to gain an advantage later. It is a high-risk maneuver, but the rewards can be high. Let us consider your situation. If the Careers accept our proposal, you gain the advantages that we have discussed. If they reject it, you die immediately. However, if you choose an alternate strategy, you will still almost certainly die. So what are you actually risking?"

A couple of extra days of life. Maybe. Spent in hunger and thirst. And in fear of the inevitable end when the Careers or some wild predator discovers me. Beetee has a point.

Beetee continues with his lecture. "We cannot be sure, but I believe our gambit has a good chance of success. Remember, the Games will be an ordeal for the Careers as well. The more efficient they can be in hunting down and eliminating the other tributes, the sooner they will be able to sit in the Victor's Chair. That is how they think."

At the mention of this, a potential problem occurs to me. "Eventually, they'll turn on me."

"Not if you betray them first. It may take all of your wits, but I believe an opportunity will arise for you to eliminate all of them in a single blow. Remember what we discussed about sponsors?" I nod. "One or two gifts of the proper strategic value may be all you need to incapacitate the Careers long enough for you to take them out."

It's tempting, so tempting. The idea that I could be the one to wipe out the hated Careers. I would become a hero amongst the Other districts. Even if I were to die later on, I would never be forgotten. But the thought of trying to match wits with the six most dangerous tributes in the Games is terrifying. Especially Psycho Knife Girl. _This plan is crazy. Can it really be my only option?_ I'm overwhelmed with the conflicting emotions.

"This can't be the only way."

"I have yet to think of a better one."

"Then keep thinking!" _He can't really be telling me to do this. I'll never survive being around the Careers._ I don't know why, but I feel a sudden urge to be anywhere else but here. Without even thinking, I stand up and bolt for the door. But Beetee has other plans. Moving with surprising speed for someone his age, he cuts me off at the doorway and forces me to sit back down.

"Calm down, Maxell. We can consider other options, but the decisions we make now must be based on logic and not emotion."

_Easy for you to say. You're not the one who will be risking his life_.

"I know that I am asking a lot from you, but I truly believe that this is the best course of action." Beetee sighs. "Perhaps we _should_ adjourn for the evening. You can think about it overnight, see if there's something I overlooked. Then you can make a final decision tomorrow morning."

"I have a choice?"

"Of course. I am your mentor, not your master. It is my duty to prepare you and assist you in your endeavor, but it is your life that is at risk, not mine. Once you enter the arena, you will have to make decisions on your own. You will have to decide whether to trust the plan wholeheartedly, because you will not execute it properly if you do not. I prefer that you make the decision beforehand, so we can work on alternative options if you really think that they have a better likelihood of success."

Beetee escorts me to my room and leaves me to my thoughts. As I lay in bed, waiting for sleep to take me, I play through all the different possible scenarios in my head. Running away from the Cornucopia and trying to survive on my own for more than a week before coming back and hoping the Careers have departed. Hiding out in the vicinity of the Cornucopia so I can try to sneak in and steal a mine. Or even trying to dig one up right away and hope I'm overlooked in the chaos of the Bloodbath. But no matter how farfetched the idea, I can't shake the feeling that Beetee probably has already considered and rejected it.

After I fall asleep, the scenarios come to life in the form of my dreams. Time and again, the alternatives end in my death, whether at the hands of the Careers, or the teeth of wild animals, or by starvation or thirst. The inescapable conclusion is that Beetee's plan is the only one with any possibility of success. It goes against every one of my instincts, but by the time I wake in the morning, I realize that I must trust Beetee's wisdom and devote myself to following his plan.

* * *

Breakfast is a quiet affair. Pixie has a dead look in her eyes again, and there's nothing that Beetee and I can discuss in front of the others. Today is the third and final day of training, and we will be having our private workouts for the Gamemakers this afternoon. The strategy for me is to deliberately aim for a low score, but that's not something that I am going to share with Pixie. If Wiress has given her any kind of plan, she isn't going to share it with me, either. We are one day closer to the Games, which means we are one day closer to becoming adversaries.

When we split up for the private mentoring session after breakfast, I tell Beetee that I have accepted his plan. We spend most of the hour discussing how best to approach the Careers and give them our proposal. Talking to them before the Games start is out of the question, because I must not tip off the Gamemakers about my land mine idea. There will be no opportunity to talk at the Bloodbath – amidst the chaos, the Careers kill first and ask questions later. We finally decide that the best course of action will be to flee the Bloodbath immediately and attempt to survive for a day or two with whatever minor items I might be able to acquire. Then I will aim to return to the Cornucopia while the majority of the Careers are out hunting, and make my proposal to the one left guarding the supplies. If he rejects my proposal, I will almost certainly die, but the odds of my escape would be slightly better than if I were surrounded by the entire pack.

All too soon, it's ten o'clock and time to head down to the gymnasium. Beetee reminds me of our plan to go for a low training score. I now understand why this is important; the weaker I seem to the Careers, the less they will suspect that I am capable of having a plan to turn the tables on them.

I spend much of the morning at a station for making your own weapons out of materials that might be available in the arena. For those who do not have the stomach to brave the Bloodbath, being able to make your own spears out of tree branches or even fashioning a crude bow could mean the difference in your survival. The tiny girl from District 11 joins me at the station and practices making slingshots out of vines. I do my usual peek around the room. The feud between boys from Two and Four has continued to grow; several times they are literally on the verge of breaking the rules and physically fighting, before being stopped by assistants. Vincent is chatting up the boy from District 9; at this rate, by the time the Games start he may have treaties with every single Other in the arena. I scan the rest of the tributes and don't see anything of note.

A whistle from the head trainer signals the end of our two and half days of training. I have attempted less than half of the available stations. The lunchroom is filled with tension as we all await our turn to show off our skills to the Gamemakers. Even the Career table is uncharacteristically silent. It suddenly occurs to me that I might be the most relaxed tribute in the entire room – a pleasant side effect of Beetee's plan. Everyone else is feeling the pressure of having to perform their best in order to impress the Gamemakers, because their lives may depend on their training scores. My goal is to make a fool of myself, so I have nothing to worry about.

Before long, an assistant appears and calls the name of the boy from District 1. We are going in district order again, so that means I'll be fifth. Right after District 2. The private sessions average around fifteen minutes each, so it takes a little over an hour before they call my name. None of the tributes who have completed their sessions return to the dining room.

Finally an assistant calls "Maxell Dyson!" Mindful that all remaining eyes are on me, I try to act as hesitant as possible as I approach the door to the gymnasium. It's not that hard to pretend, since I'm not exactly looking forward to embarrassing myself in front of the Gamemakers.

As I walk through the doors into the training room, I am greeted by a sight of absolute chaos. Avoxes are frantically scrubbing the far wall clean of what looks to be brightly colored paint of some sort. Assistants at most of the weapons stations are slumped in chairs, breathing heavily as though they were trying to recover from great exertion. As I watch with wide eyes, an Avox pulls a knife out of the dummy at the spear-throwing station, which is nowhere near the knife station. I look up at the Gamemakers, and see no sign that they are even aware of my arrival. Most are scribbling furiously away at their notes or jabbering excitedly to each other about what score to give "her".

_Oh. They're talking about Psycho Knife Girl._

Knife Girl must have really put on a show for them to get so excited. Or, judging from the wall that the Avoxes have just finished cleaning, she broke down and went completely mental. Thinking about her cold confidence in all her interactions so far during training, however, I decide that the second possibility is highly unlikely.

At this moment, it occurs to me what a ridiculous disadvantage it is being from District 3. If my goal had been to try and get a good training score, I would have been totally doomed by my position. The Gamemakers have just seen four Careers show off their lifetime of training, and the other two will perform right after Pixie finishes. No wonder Beetee's been trying for years to get people to train ahead of time. Even if you were the best of the Others, your score would be weakened in comparison to the Careers. And if you were somewhere in the middle, you'd be completely forgotten. At least if District 12 shows something impressive, they'll have the advantage of being the last thing the Gamemakers saw. My thoughts drift to Matt, and Haier, and my other friends back home. If my some miracle I do win this, the first thing I'm going to do when I get home is to make them all start training.

I'm brought back to reality by one of the assistants signaling for me to start. I look up at the Gamemakers one more time. They seem to have stopped discussing Knife Girl, but now most of them are getting more food from the buffet table. I sigh to myself. _Let's get this debacle over_.

I go to the survival stations first, figuring that even if my goal was to get a low score, I could at least use the practice. I'm actually pretty confident about the edible plants, but I deliberately mix up a couple to ensure that I won't accidentally get a perfect score on that test. I build a decent shelter, but I fail completely at trying to light a fire.

My next step is the weapons stations. They're about as humiliating as I expect them to be. It would be one thing if I had a particular skill and was deliberately hiding it, but the Gamemakers are probably used to that tactic. No, I try my hardest, and end up getting my butt thoroughly kicked by assistants who are only partially recovered from District 2. I only manage to hit the dummy with one out of five spears, and the hit is so weak that it bounces off and clatters to the ground. The worst is the knife throwing. I don't hit a single target, and most of my knives hit the wall handle-first so they wouldn't have caused damaged even if they were on target.

Having finished with the weapons, I look at the Gamemakers again. Most are still not paying any attention to me, and the few faces aimed in my direction have looks of embarrassment and pity for me. Finally one of them nods to dismiss me, and an Avox beckons me to the elevator. I leave the room quickly, pondering whether I might have just achieved the impossible and earned a training score of One. The one positive is that I might have been so dismal that Pixie's performance might appear better in comparison. I know only one of us can win, but I can't help wishing the best for my district partner. In the very likely event that I fail, she's the one that I would want to win. But then the realist in me reminds me that she has even less of a chance than I do.

* * *

Beetee, Wiress and Verity Phillips are waiting for me when I reach the third floor. "So, how did it go?" Verity asks.

Everything went according to plan. But I'm not sure whether I should discuss the plan with Wiress and Verity around. I look at Beetee. He gives a very slight shake of his head, as if in answer to my unspoken question.

I try to make my voice glum. "I think I'm going to get a bad score."

"Now, now, don't think like that! If you focus some positive energy on the Gamemakers, I'm sure you'll get a decent score!" _Are all Capitol escorts as out of touch with reality as Verity is? _ I ponder.

A few minutes later, the elevator bell rings. I only get one glimpse of Pixie as she rushes down the hall and slams the door to her room. She's completely in tears. Verity Phillips and Wiress head down the hall to try to talk her out, leaving me alone in the sitting room with Beetee. "Well?" he asks.

I tell him everything: what stations I did, how poorly the weapons went, and how many of the Gamemakers didn't even pay attention because they were so excited about District 2. "I think I might have the worst score." I manage a half smile.

"Very good. Everything is going according to plan. Now we wait to see how everyone else scored."

With 18 more tributes yet to perform, we have several hours of free time. Beetee and I discuss details of our plan for a while. When Verity and Wiress return to the sitting room after failing to retrieve Pixie, however, Beetee dismisses me so the mentoring team can discuss what to do about her.

I spend the rest of the afternoon laying in my bed, eating fancy snacks that I ordered off the menu board in my room. My thoughts keep turning to Pixie, though. I know I shouldn't care about her, but I can't help it. I've grown accustomed to her in the past few days, and I just wish I could do something to give her a little bit of hope.

By dinner Pixie seems to have cried herself out. She's very subdued as we move to the television room to watch the training scores. The seal of Panem appears on the screen while the anthem plays. Then a Capitol announcer comes on the screen and starts babbling for what seems like an eternity. Then another announcer is introduced who shares his predictions for the scores, and gives us the betting statistics so we all know "what Panem thinks!" If there's one thing that Capitol television is good at, it's wasting time. Why can't they just get on with it? I know. Because they have a half-hour timeslot to fill, and just showing the scores would take less than five minutes.

After an excruciatingly long time, they cut away from the announcers and the boy from District 1 appears on screen. Then they flash his score underneath. Eight. That's usually a great score for the Others, but not particularly impressive for a Career. Doll Face scores a nine. Then the pair from District 2 upstage her by each scoring tens.

Then it's our turn. I know that it's all part of the plan, but the three that flashes up under my photograph is still like a punch to my gut. Pixie's matching three is a far worse blow to her, however. I tense myself in anticipation of more waterworks from her, but instead she just gets an empty expression on her face. Like a corpse. As if all the life had drained out of her.

District 4 is next, and both tributes score eights. That means each of the Careers can singlehandedly beat our district's combined score by 33%. This is why none of us ever seem to live past the Bloodbath.

The boy from District 5 matches the threes scored by Pixie and me, but the redhead scores a six. That's a very good score for a girl who according to Pixie failed every single station that she tried. The tributes from Districts 6 through 10 all score between four and six. I notice Vincent's on the high end of that group with a six.

Then the surprises begin. The giant boy from District 11 scores a ten, putting him in a three-way tie with District 2 for the highest training score. I know his size gives him an advantage, but I can't recall a single notable thing that he did during training. Then the tiny girl scores a seven. A seven! From a twelve-year-old! She has more than doubled our scores. I'm beginning to feel less and less confident about my chances, even if everything goes according to plan.

The Boy on Fire is next, and he scores an eight, which is an exceptional score coming from District 12. That score puts him level with half the Careers! But I don't have much time to ponder the boy, because the next thing I know it's the girl's turn. And for the third time since I got on the train from District 3, her image on the television screen is directly connected to an event that rocks my world:

The Girl on Fire scores an eleven.


	8. Chapter 8

_Hi everyone! Happy New Year! (Yes, I am aware that we are almost two weeks into 2011...) I've finally gotten back into the swing of things so look for regular updates from here on out. Hopefully. A lot of stuff happens in this chapter so I'll save my comments for the end. The usual disclaimers: I own nothing, because Suzanne Collins owns _The Hunger Games_, and Caisha702 and be-nice-to-nerds inspired me with their stories in whose version of the universe I have set this story. Also, many thanks to Caisha for her extra support and advice for this chapter - she knows why._

* * *

Chapter 8

The five of us sit in shocked silence for the remainder of the program. The thing about the training scores is, although they like to pretend that it's a twelve-point scale with one being the lowest and twelve being the highest, in reality the worst score they ever hand out is a two and best score anyone has ever gotten is an eleven. It's not given out every Hunger Games, and when it is, it's invariably reserved for the best amongst the Careers. For a tribute from District 12 – the laughingstock of Panem – to get such a high score is completely inconceivable. I'm pretty sure that this is the first time in the history of the Games that a tribute from District 12 has even earned the highest score of a year.

I try to think back on my observations during the group training but I can't think of a single thing that she did that was noteworthy. Other than wearing matching clothing with her district partner and doing everything together with him, of course. But in terms of any particular skills with weapons or survival stations, I can think of none. Whatever skills she showed to the Gamemakers today, she's definitely been keeping a secret from the rest of us tributes.

The Capitol announcers, who had themselves been shocked into silence, begin talking excitedly about District 12 and her position as the new favorite in the Games. "For once, District 12 is not going to be lacking for sponsors!" one of them says.

My heart sinks. Part of Beetee's plan was dependent on my earning a few sponsors who were motivated to see the Careers lose. Now, all those anti-Career sponsors will be flocking to District 12. The Girl on Fire has seriously damaged my hopes.

Verity interrupts the silence after the show is concluded. "Cheer up, you two! A three isn't the end of the world! Tributes have won with a three before!"

It's true that there have been victors who earned a score of three in training, but those tributes were deliberately hiding their skills. Once they entered the arena, they quickly showed that they deserved scores of seven or higher based on their abilities to fight and to feed themselves in the wild. The announcers would repeatedly make comments like "I bet he never showed _that_ to the Gamemakers!" I have only one hidden talent: my ability to reactivate the land mines. And I'm pretty sure Pixie isn't hiding anything at all. The all-too-familiar feeling of despair begins to resurface.

We break up for our private mentoring sessions again. Beetee, who seems to be able to read me like a book, immediately jumps on me. "Do not lose hope. We cannot afford for you to have another emotional breakdown."

"But District 12…"

"She is not your concern. In fact, she may prove to be very advantageous to our plan."

I'm perplexed. _How can she be helpful to me? She's the biggest threat out there!_ "What do you mean?"

"You said yourself that the Career alliance is tenuous this year. It would be disastrous for you if the alliance were to break prematurely. However, Katniss Everdeen's eleven should force the Careers to work together to hunt her down. When they do eliminate her, they may be in a celebratory mood and let their guard down just enough for you to make your move."

_Huh_. I hadn't thought of that. Beetee's a total genius. Way smarter than me. I guess it comes with years and years of scheming as a mentor. I don't have to worry about the Girl on Fire's eleven because the Careers will take her out for me. But that means I won't be able to betray them until the job is done. And what if she's too good? What if she kills the Careers instead? "What if they can't beat her?"

"That is highly unlikely. She will be one girl against six Careers. But we will work on some alternatives just in case."

Beetee turns our attention toward the rest of the field. He fiddles with a device, and the names and faces of all twenty four tributes get projected onto the wall, along with their district numbers and training scores. Then, we begin to arrange them in order of biggest threat, based on everything we learned about them over the past few days. Despite her eleven, the Girl on Fire ends up third, behind Psycho Knife Girl and her partner from District 2. Doll Face occupies the fourth spot, followed by the high-scoring giant from District 11. The remaining Careers take up the next three spots, while the Boy on Fire is ninth on our list with his training score of 8. After quite a bit of discussion, we decide to rank Vincent tenth, despite the fact that the tiny girl from District 11 outscored him, mostly because we know he has one pretty good weapons skill and because of who his mentor is. In twelfth, we place the boy from District 9, who got a decent training score despite not doing anything that I found memorable. He is followed by the girls from Districts 8 and 5. The rest of the competition is harder to rank because I haven't paid much attention to them during the training. Pixie and the boy from District 5 who also earned a three occupy the bottom two spots, though.

With the other tributes ranked 1-23, Beetee asks me to provide an honest assessment of where I think I rank.

"What do you think my real training score should be?" I ask.

"I would put you into the six-to-seven range, because of your hidden talent, and because of your intellect. You may not have any fighting skills, but Wiress and I are living proof that intelligence can more than make up for a lack of physical abilities. Arvee had both, which helped him immensely in his Games."

_Wow. Six to seven!_ That's high praise for someone who had completely given up just two days ago. I suggest that I'd be somewhere around the girl from District 5. Beetee disagrees, thinking that I'm underestimating my abilities. We eventually settle for putting me in between Vincent and the girl from District 11. That places me eleventh. Zo-em-gee. I have better odds than half the field.

"Now, think about all the tributes above you on the list. How many are Careers?"

"Six." Of course.

"Do you notice a pattern amongst those six?"

_A pattern?_ _What on earth is Beetee talking about?_ I have to stare at the list for a minute before it jumps out at me. The two rival factions are more or less clumped together, with the District 11 giant separating them. "Oh. There are two groups."

Beetee does some kind of manipulation with the list and gets the groups lined up side by side. The likely ringleaders are the boys from Districts 1 and 2, who I've started to mentally refer to as Arrogant One and Angry Two. Arrogant One can't be too happy about the training scores. His faction is clearly inferior with an average score of 8, while the District 2/Doll Face trio has an average of 9.7. I know from watching past games that such a difference usually translates into a pretty one-sided fight in the arena. Of course, it's nowhere near as bad as the mismatch between the weaker Others and the Careers.

We talk for a little bit about the ramifications of the Career scores, before Beetee turns our attention to the four Others. "If the four non-Careers above you are eliminated, what does that mean?"

"It's time for me to betray the Careers?"

"Absolutely. The Careers will be the only thing preventing you from being the favorite to win the Games, in our estimation of course. At that point, you should be more than capable of outwitting any surviving tributes below you on the list. In fact, that is the absolute _latest_ that you can afford to wait to spring your trap. Depending on how the Games unfold, it may be necessary for you to turn on the Careers earlier and hope that fortune is on your side against the remaining threats."

"But you waited until the very end in your Games."

"My situation was different. I was not in an alliance with the Careers, at risk of having them turn on me. I was on my own, and I had my traps set. It was merely fortune that kept the five remaining Careers together until they tried to hunt me down when I was the last non-Career remaining. In your case, you _must_ make your move before the Career alliance breaks down, even if that means taking your chances against whomever is left."

I don't like the sound of that. Even if I am worth a six or seven, I can't imagine going up against the Girl on Fire's eleven or the District 11 giant's ten. And I made that stupid promise to Vincent. "How will I know when the right time is?"

"You will have to use that incredible mind of yours and make a decision, based on who is left in the field and the group dynamic of the alliance. I will be working to get you sponsor gifts that could aid your attack. The main one will come at the earliest opportunity, since prices go up later in the Games. If I send you a gift of something unnecessary like food or drink, however, it will be a signal that I believe you must act immediately."

Beetee's mention of sponsors reminds me of the other problem with District 12's training score. "But there won't _be_ any sponsors! Anyone who wants the Careers to lose will back District 12!"

"Calm down. Remember our discussion about the casinos? Plenty of bets are coming in for District 12 right now, so they will also profit if she loses. Even if I cannot secure sponsors, you can still find a way to make your move. It will just be slightly more challenging."

We spend the rest of the evening discussing the various ways for me to betray the alliance, and what to do after. With the Careers gone, it will be likely up to me to eliminate the remaining tributes. If no one takes the role of hunter, the Gamemakers will be sure to introduce new threats into the arena to liven things up. So I will have to set traps and try to lure my competition into them. It will be a daunting task, even at that stage.

I go to bed with all the different options playing through my head. Our plan has been finalized, but there are so many variables that it's impossible to know exactly what to do for the latter half of it. But as I drift off to sleep I realize how lucky I am to have Beetee as my mentor. Some of the other mentors are drunks, or morphling addicts, or simply beyond caring. Beetee is a brilliant mastermind, and he's doing everything he can to give me a chance.

* * *

The entirety of the next day is devoted to preparing for the interview. Verity Phillips insists on having each of us to herself for four hours, during which she works on teaching us "to act like real human beings." In other words, like Capitol-folk. Wiress and Beetee had warned us not to resist, since no matter how outlandish Verity is, she's the one most qualified to know what appeals to the citizens of the Capitol, being one herself. So I try to absorb as much as I can while she "corrects" everything from my walking style to my posture to the angle of my head while I talk. It's exhausting work.

The other four hours are devoted to meeting with our mentors for content. Since Verity is meeting alone with Pixie, Beetee and Wiress work together to prepare me to answer every potential question from the legendary interviewer, Caesar Flickerman. The mentors quickly decide to play up my intelligence and tell me I should demonstrate quiet confidence. This confuses me a little because I thought my goal was to appear weak to the other tributes.

"There is nothing you will say that will convince the Careers to pay you any attention. Your training score already makes you beneath their notice," Beetee says. "As for the other tributes, they will be so concerned about their own upcoming interviews that they will pay little attention to you. The point of the interviews…"

"…is to impress the sponsors." Wiress finishes Beetee's sentence for him.

So we practice what to say and what not to say. How to address my low training score if Caesar Flickerman asks. How not to reveal any details about my strategy while showing potential sponsors that I do have one. And so on. By the end of the day, I have so much information in my head that I'm actually worried that I might forget the details of the plan itself.

It feels like I have barely closed my eyes when I am awakened by my brightly-colored prep team. Apparently it takes all day to clean me up and dress me for the interview. Fortunately, most of it requires very little active involvement from me, so I get to catch up on my rest, sinking into a mental stupor for most of the morning while my prep team subjects my skin and hair to various atrocities. I'm more alert in the afternoon, but just as detached as I spend the time making sure I remember everything that I was told yesterday and mentally getting ready for the interview.

Perpenna arrives late in the afternoon to finish styling and dressing me. "So, Beetee tells me that you have a real chance this year. I might actually have to think about designing a Victory Ceremony suit for you."

_So you haven't even considered the possibility until today. Thanks for your confidence._

Perpenna produces a dark green suit with the same gold circuit patterns that were painted on my skin during the Opening Ceremony. It's hard to stare at for any length of time, but compared to my Opening Ceremony costume, it's positively decent. Hopefully it'll catch the eye of some Capitol sponsor and help him remember me later.

When my makeup and dressing is finally complete, I reach for the microchip Intel gave me, thinking it matches my outfit perfectly. Perpenna, however, snatches it from me. "All district tokens must go before the review board tonight. If they approve it, you will get it back tomorrow in the Launch Room."

_Tomorrow. The Games begin tomorrow._ The realization passes through me like a 20-volt electric shock. I have been so absorbed with preparations – both working on the plan with Beetee and getting ready for the interview – that I have stopped counting down the days until the Games start. Has an entire week gone by already? Yes, yes it has. Tomorrow I will enter the arena.

The timing for this epiphany couldn't have been worse. Perpenna ushers me out to the elevator, where we are joined by Pixie, Cornelius, Verity, Wiress and Beetee. There are only a few minutes left before the interview, and I should be focusing on my performance. But all I can think about is how little time is left before the Games actually start. During the short elevator ride down to the lobby, my anxiety begins to rise, starting from a dull fear and building quickly. By the time we line up behind the giant outdoor stage with the other tributes, I'm fighting a full-on panic attack. Beetee hisses to us to calm down and focus, and then the mentors and stylists are gone, taking their seats of honor in the front rows of the crowd.

Beetee's advice is easier said than done, as we take our seats in a giant arc on the stage. There are two chairs in the very center, one for Caesar Flickerman and one for the interviewee. But as I glance up and down the arc, all I see are the faces of the twenty three others who will be trying to kill me tomorrow. The first couple of interviews pass by in a blur, and now Psycho Knife Girl is taking her place next to Caesar Flickerman, wearing a silver dress that immediately recalls the image of the blade of a knife. She immediately plays the role of a vicious killer, and at one point I'm fairly certain she glances right at me when she talks about the other tributes not standing a chance against her.

I try to take some deep breaths to calm myself down as Angry Two has his turn, also presenting himself as a brutal killing machine. And then it's Pixie's turn. I don't know what angle Wiress and Beetee had planned for her, but I'm fairly certain it wasn't "terrified little girl", which is the only thing that she shows. Caesar Flickerman, who tries to help tributes as much as he can, has to work overtime just to coax short answers out of Pixie, and fills most of her allotted three minutes with his own voice.

Then the buzzer rings and it's my turn. My heart is pounding in my chest as I make my way to the interview chair. Caesar shakes my hand as I sit down, giving me a warm smile that calms me down a little.

"So, Maxell, how does the Capitol compare to your home in District 3?"

This is a question that Wiress and Beetee have prepared me for. I recite the response as practiced, hoping that I can keep the nervousness out of my voice.

"We have lots of buildings too, but everything is so much shinier and newer here."

"Yes. It's lovely, isn't it?"

"It's beautiful."

The Capitol audience loves it when you compliment anything about them, from their appearance to their city. I'm off to a good start.

"What about all the technology that we have here? You must be familiar with some of it, being from District 3."

"Well, yes, but it's amazing seeing everything in one place, all working together perfectly." Another practiced response from me. "There are so many useful devices, even in my bedroom at the Training Center."

"Ah yes, this little building is impressive, isn't it?" Caesar casually gestures at the building behind us.

"Very." I'm actually starting to relax a little bit, thanks to Caesar's friendliness.

"Speaking of training, I'm afraid I have to ask you about your score. A three. Were you hiding something from the Gamemakers?"

"Let's just say I have some intangibles that couldn't be measured in my private session, but could be useful in the arena."

"Ah, so there is something!" Caesar's eyes light up. "Can you give us some details? The audience wants to know!"

_He can't really expect tributes to actually reveal their secrets, can he?_ "I don't think I should show what I can do until I'm in the arena."

"A very wise decision. Wouldn't want your competition to know too soon! Tell us, what do you think about your fellow tributes this year?"

Caesar waves his arm toward the arc of tributes on the stage. Without thinking about it, my eyes follow his motion and I glance over at them. Big mistake. My gaze settles on Psycho Knife Girl, who is looking at me with a smirk on her face that clearly says "Tomorrow I'm going to kill you." That's all it takes to break my concentration and remind me of the direness of my situation. _Tomorrow I go into the arena_.

Everything goes downhill from that point.

My mind goes blank for a second, causing me to freeze until Caesar has to repeat his question. Then, somehow my mouth moves of its own accord and I give the response that I had practiced. But any confidence is gone from my tone of voice. "W-w-well, there are c-c-certainly some tributes m-more skilled than I am, b-b-but my mentor and I have a game plan s-s-so d-d-d-don't count me out." _Stuttering is bad, I need to stop stuttering._

"Ah your mentor! We all know Beetee is one of the smartest former champions. How lucky you are to have him." I look up at the giant screen and see the cameras have found my mentor.

"Y-y-yes. He's a genius."

"And he has a plan for you to win. I know you won't provide details, but how about a little hint?'

"N-no. You'll have to wait and see." I struggle to regain control of my voice, but at least the practice is proving to be invaluable as I'm still giving the right answers.

Caesar chuckles. "Alright, alright. We get the message. But _please _don't keep us waiting too long, okay? Now, let's talk about your stylist! This is such an intricate pattern on your suit!"

"Perpenna is very bold. I think it's amazing how she incorporates our district's industry into every design." I've managed to stop stuttering, although my voice still sounds nervous. By the way, this is a complete lie; I don't think Perpenna's amazing at anything. But this is the answer we practiced, because the audience would hate you if you were critical of your stylist.

"Of course! It's a circuit board. District 3 makes electronics! Do you work in the factories back home?"

"No. I go to school and my family runs a repair shop."

Caesar uses this as a perfect opportunity to ask about my family.

"My parents are really great, and I have two brothers. One is older and one is my twin. I love them all very much. My twin brother Matt is my best friend." This should be the most heartfelt part of the interview, but somehow my voice comes out with no emotion whatsoever. Because suddenly all I can think about is Psycho Knife Girl saying in that sickly sweet voice, "It must be difficult for you to know that you will never see them again."

"I know they're watching at home. Is there anything that you would like to tell them?"

"I… uh…" This was not a question that I had practiced. My mind is blank as I struggle to find the right words. It might be my last chance to say goodbye to my family, but I know the sponsors are watching, too, and I can't sound like I've given up.

Mercifully, the buzzer rings, ending the awkward silence. "Oh I'm sorry! We're out of time. You'll have to tell them in person, when you return home a winner, Maxell Dyson, tribute from District 3."

I can tell from the smattering of applause as I return to my seat that I didn't make a very good impression. _I blew it, I blew it, I blew it._ I've ruined my last opportunity to earn a single sponsor. How could I be so stupid? Everything was going fine and then I let District 2 break my concentration. And then it really hits me. This is it. The interview is over. There's nothing left between me and the arena. I succumb to the mind-numbing fear of what will happen tomorrow.

Predictably, I'm completely unable to pay attention to the rest of the interviews. I try to listen, since this may be my last chance to learn something about my enemies, but my mind seems completely unable to absorb what they are saying. Not even the Girl on Fire can hold my attention. I can remember her spinning around in her dress so it looks like she is once again on fire, but not a single word that she says penetrates my mind. And then it's the Boy on Fire's turn. Looking at his empty chair at the end of the arc, I realize that we've reached the last of the interviews. The show is almost over for tonight.

A hush falls over the crowd after the boy's latest response to Caesar, which draws my attention because they had been laughing and cheering for most of the interview. Confused, I try to focus on the conversation and figure out what they are talking about. Apparently he has just told all of Panem that he is in love with his district partner. _Huh. That's a first_. Tributes have grown emotionally attached to their allies in the arena before, but I don't think anyone's ever publicly declared their love during the interview. I guess he's going for sponsorships based on sympathy. If he's telling the truth, he certainly has mine, because it would have to be the most awful thing to have to kill the person you love in order to survive. There's absolutely no way the Gamemakers would ever change the rules to give them a chance to both live.

* * *

When we get back upstairs, the entire District 3 team is there: Beetee, Wiress, Cornelius, Perpenna and Verity Phillips. It quickly becomes clear that the three Capitol members want to talk about nothing but the interviews, something that Pixie and I really don't want to sit through. The mentors side with us, and eventually the four of us from District 3 take our dinner in the television room to avoid listening to the others.

We eat quickly, and then Pixie and Wiress excuse themselves for a final private mentoring session. Beetee turns on the television where they are showing a replay of the interviews. When we reach the part where I started stuttering, he finally asks, "What happened out there?"

"Everything was going fine and then I… I looked at District 2…"

"And you lost your focus."

"I was thinking about how tomorrow I'll be in the arena and she's going to kill me. I don't think I can do this, Beetee!"

"Yes, you can. Listen to me, Max," he says, using the short form of my name for the first time. "You are not the only tribute to be having doubts right now. But you have something that many of them don't: a clear game plan. What did you say about me to Caesar during the interview?"

"That you're a genius."

"That wasn't an answer we practiced; therefore it must have come from your heart. So even if you don't believe in yourself, I need you to believe in me. Believe in the plan. That was our agreement, remember?"

I nod.

"Now, let's look at the rest of your competition."

As the rest of the interviews go by, Beetee points out the ones that look like they've given up and the ones that seem determined not to go down without a fight: the redhead from District 5, Vincent, the girl from District 9, and surprisingly, both tributes from Districts 10, 11, and 12. When we finally reach the Boy on Fire, Beetee tells me two things: "First, expect a District 12 alliance. That is the only direction they can go after the interview. Second: the others that I pointed out may have the best chances, but anyone who survives the Bloodbath is a threat, and you must eliminate them if given an opportunity."

"But I'm not a killer."

"You have to become one."

"How?"

"Think of the person that you hate the most in the world, and imagine that he is the person you are fighting. There is plenty of time for guilt later if you win."

_So that's how you did it_. I don't know if I will be able to do the same, but I have to try.

Beetee looks at the clock. "It is almost time for the mentors to go to the Games Headquarters. These are my final words to you: I believe in you, Maxell Dyson. You have given me the most hope that I have had with any tribute since Arvee. If we work together, I can bring you home. I know I can."

Beetee shakes my hand, and then we go back to the lobby where Verity is waiting. Perpenna and Cornelius have already retired for the evening, since they have to wake up before dawn to accompany us to the arena. We're joined a short while later by Pixie and Wiress. One glance at Pixie and I know that they had a much different conversation from the one that Beetee and I did; Pixie's obviously been crying for much of the past hour. Wiress has an arm around her shoulder to try to comfort her.

Verity is oblivious. "Well, this is goodbye!" she says brightly. "Have fun in the arena! And may the odds…" she pauses for dramatic effect, "be _ever_ in your favor!"

If the Games started right now, I might be picturing Verity Phillips as the person I hate the most while fighting other tributes.

As soon as the elevator doors close behind Wiress, Beetee and Verity, Pixie bursts into tears. With Wiress gone, I have absolutely no idea how to try to calm Pixie down. Back in District 3, I don't talk to girls. Ever. It's not that I don't find them interesting, it's just that I don't have the necessary skill with words in order to charm them. "Uh… what's wrong?" _What a stupid question_. _Of course I know what's wrong!_

Pixie stares at me as if I've gone insane. I try again. "I mean… can I help you?" _'Can I help you'? _It sounds like I'm talking to a customer. And of course I can't help her. Tomorrow we're going to be enemies in the arena! Maybe I should just shut up.

Pixie finally answers me. "I'm… so… scared," she says between sobs. "I don't want to die."

"Me neither."

"Well you… you figured something out, I know it! You and Beetee have some kind of plan. I have nothing!"

Seeing her crying like this, I just can't help feeling bad for her. If I hadn't thought about the land mines, I would be in the exact same position as she is right now. If only there were something I could do to give her just a little bit of hope…

Suddenly, an idea hits me. I think it over quickly and decide that it can't possibly hurt the plan at this stage.

"You're right. I do have a plan." I say. "I can't tell you the details, but if it works, the Careers are probably going to let me be the guard for their supplies."

I can see the look of amazement on Pixie's face. Whatever she guessed of my plan, it's safe to say she never thought it would involve the Careers. I continue on quickly. "So if it works, and you come back to the camp when they're all off hunting, I can give you some things that you need – as much as I can without them realizing that I'm stealing from them."

This probably sounds too good to be true. "Why are you offering to help me?" she says suspiciously.

This is a good question. _Why _am_ I doing this?_ "You're my district partner, I guess. And…" The next words come out of my mouth almost before the realization hits me: "And I care about you." _I care about Pixie_. Despite my determination a week ago to avoid getting to know Pixie, I have become fond of her. I guess it was unavoidable given all the time we spent together in the past few days, but I realize that I now care about her fate as well as my own. For the first time, I can begin to understand a little of what the Boy on Fire from District 12 must be feeling.

Pixie has stopped crying. "You won't kill me if I come to you?" There's a hint of hope in her voice.

"As long as I'm alone. I won't be able help you if the Careers are around."

"You promise?"

"I promise."

Pixie suddenly throws her arms around me. "Thank you so much!" It's the first time that we've had any kind of physical contact since the handshake at the Reaping. Surprised, I return the hug awkwardly for a moment, and then it's over.

"I might not make it into the alliance, though. What did Wiress tell you to do?"

"Grab something if it's close by, but don't go too close to the Cornucopia. And then hide and do my best to survive."

"I think you should follow her instructions, too. Just in case I fail."

"Okay. Well, good luck!"

"You too." I bid Pixie goodnight as we go to our respective bedrooms. As the door closes behind me, I wonder if I will ever see her again. Maybe at launch, but afterward, who knows? _What am I thinking?_ Even if our little arrangement works out, I'll still need her to die in order to win. So either I'll help the Careers get her, and I'll feel bad, or worse yet, I'll have to hunt her down after taking out the Careers and I'll feel terrible.

I lie down on the bed, but sleep is impossible. Eventually I decide to take a shower to try to relax. I step into the fancy bathroom with its absurd number of luxury gadgets. Standing under the deluge of water, all I can think about is how unfair everything is. Who knows what Pixie and I might have been. Friends? Something more? I'll never get a chance to find out because only one person can leave the arena alive. It's the same with Vincent. And the other nineteen. Well, maybe not the Careers.

It all comes back to the Capitol. I hate them. I hate them for doing this to us. For ripping us from our homes, our families. For forcing us to fight to the death in the arena. And for watching and cheering as we suffer and die. That's the worst part of watching the Games on television, the cutaway to the roaring Capitol crowd as the blood pours out of a dying tribute. And I've never known any of them personally. It must be a hundred, a thousand times worse for their families to watch.

I realize that I am furious. There is one person who is most responsible for all of this. He may not have been around at the beginning when the Games were established, but he has had the power to end this barbaric practice for over twenty five years now. But instead he's allowed the Games to continue, even reveled in them.

My hands move of their own accord and hit the buttons of the shower's control panel, typing out the phrase "I HATE SNOW." I end up getting smothered by soaps and shampoos of various fragrances before getting sprayed with twelve different jets of water, but somehow it makes me feel a little better knowing that I just had a "I HATE SNOW" shower. I also get a sudden inspiration.

One thing that the Capitol has taken away from me in the past week is the ability to exercise my passion for electronics. I haven't touched a circuit board since I stopped work early the night before the Reaping. I might be out of practice at the skill I'll need most to execute the plan. If the Careers do accept my proposal, they certainly aren't going to have a lot of patience while I cautiously figure out how to rewire the mines. And if I'm working with live explosives, one mistake could mean instant death. So why not get some practice working with Capitol technology while making a little tiny act of defiance that they'll never find out about? This is the Training Center; the only people who would ever use my shower would be the District 3 boy tributes of the future.

After I'm completely dried off, I pry open the access panel for the shower controls. It doesn't take me long to locate the central processing unit and begin to figure out exactly how the signal for each option is transmitted to the main nodule. I can almost imagine that I'm back at the Shop in District 3. It's an exhilarating feeling.

I spend the next few hours rewiring and reprogramming the shower console. It's past three o'clock in the morning by the time I finally finish and stop to admire my work. Once a tribute steps into the shower and selects his options, the shower will run normally, but the tribute will get a pleasant surprise as the control panel will light up with a personal message from me. I was even able to program two messages; one to be displayed if the shower is used in the next six weeks, and another that will be displayed in future years. The first message reads:  
"CONGRATS MAX"  
"CHAMPION OF"  
"74TH HGR GMS"  
"DONT FORGET"  
"TO FIX SHOWER"

Just a little reminder for myself that I might want to erase the evidence of my tampering, should I actually survive the Games.

The second message is more morbid, a word of encouragement to next year's tribute assuming that I failed:  
"DEAR TRIBUTE"  
"OF 75TH GAMES"  
"DONT GIVE UP"  
"YOU CAN WIN"  
"GOOD LUCK"  
"DIST3 POWNS"  
"TELL BEETEE"  
"THANK YOU"  
"NEVER FORGET"  
"MAXELL DYSON"

I briefly ponder who it might be next year, if I do fail. Will he remember watching me die? Will I have at least have been imprinted on everyone's memories for getting the land mines working? Regardless, I hope my message will give him the kick he needs to do something amazing and bring a victory back to District 3.

With that final thought, I get into bed and drift off into sleep.

* * *

_Whew! That was a long chapter. But we're through the buildup now, and it's on to the arena! Of course, that also means saying goodbye to Pixie and the rest of the District 3 team. I had a really fun time writing Beetee, and Pixie really became so much more to me than just a faceless side character. I hope the last couple of scenes weren't too cheesy!_


	9. Chapter 9

_Hi again! Many thanks to everyone who reviewed. I love to hear from you! This is a little bit shorter of a chapter, but we finally get to the arena! So here come the disclaimers. Suzanne Collins owns the _Hunger Games_ and all the characters within. This story is inspired by **Caisha702 **and **be-nice-to-nerds**. In particular, Caisha invented a part of the section of the arena that Max visits in her story "Love is a Battlefield." Much of the Bloodbath is also taken from her stories. I'll get a little bit more creative next chapter but for now I'm just playing in her universe._

* * *

Chapter 9

It feels like I have barely closed my eyes when Perpenna shakes me awake. Maybe staying up late last night wasn't such a good idea. I practically sleepwalk my way to the elevator as Perpenna escorts me to the roof, where the cool morning air begins to wake me up. There is no sign of Cornelius and Pixie, nor any of the other tributes and stylists. Each tribute makes the journey to the arena alone, accompanied only by their stylist.

A hovercraft for Perpenna and me appears, and I'm transported on board by an electric ladder invented in District 3. While I'm still frozen to the ladder, someone injects a tracking device into my arm. Then Perpenna is transported on and we begin our trip.

The pain of the injection and the unavoidable knowledge that today is Launch Day keep me awake for the duration of the flight. General nervousness gives way to overwhelming fear as the windows black out for the final minutes. They don't want tributes to be able to get an overhead look at the arena before launch.

Perpenna and I are lowered into a tunnel that extends underneath the arena. We make our way to my Launch Room, which is directly underneath the spot where I will enter the arena, rising on the metal circle that is located in one corner of the room. Somewhere above me are the land mines in which lies my only hope of survival.

I take a shower and brush my teeth to get ready. The shower here is nothing like the abomination in my quarters at the Training Center – just a simple faucet like the one back in my house in District 3. It's intended for a one-time use only, after all. Perpenna helps me get dressed in the clothes provided by the Gamemakers, which are the same for all the tributes. This year they consist of a simple light-green shirt and light-brown pants, with a brown belt and a black hooded jacket. The boots fit my feet perfectly and are surprisingly easy to run in. After I'm dressed, I do something that I have not done during the whole week that I spent in the Capitol: I eat as much food as my stomach can take, far beyond my non-existent appetite. I'll soon need as much energy as I can get; even if I do get in with the Careers there's no guarantee that there will be a lot of food to go around.

And then we wait. The Games start at ten o'clock, which is already pushing it for the notoriously late-rising Capitol crowd. I'm sure my family is already awake, though. They probably couldn't sleep at all last night, knowing that this is the day they may see me die. To take my mind off such morbid thoughts, I try to go over all the details of Beetee's plan to make sure that I haven't forgotten anything. As I watch the minutes tick away on the clock, though, it becomes harder and harder to concentrate. _Thirty minutes left. Fifteen. Ten._

Soon I'm nearing a state of complete panic. There's almost no more time left before the other tributes will literally be trying to kill me. At five minutes to ten, Perpenna looks up. "Oh! I almost forgot. Here's your district token." She holds out a green piece of plastic that looks completely unrecognizable to me.

I look at it in horror. "What have they done to it?"

"The review board thought that the wire could give you an advantage, especially since you are from District 3, so they replaced it with string. And they wanted to make sure the chip was not functional so they scraped off the components."

"They've ruined it!"

"At least you get to keep what's left of it. The District 1 girl's token was denied completely. What was she thinking, trying to sneak a ring with a poisonous spike past the review board?"

A female voice interrupts Perpenna's rambling, telling us that it's time to prepare for launch. I quickly grab my mutilated token out of her hand and throw it around my neck. As I make my way to the metal circle, though, Perpenna gets my attention. "I have a final message from Beetee. What was it? He used the word 'plan' several times. Oh! 'Trust the plan. Follow the plan. Believe in the plan.'" Then she adds, "It better be a really good plan because you'll need it."

Those are her final words of "encouragement" to me. A glass cylinder lowers around me, and then the plate begins to rise. My heart races as I'm plunged into complete darkness for a few seconds, and then bright sunlight blinds me as I'm pushed into the open air. For a moment, the only thing that I can comprehend is a strong breeze in my face bringing a smell that I have rarely experienced in my life: trees. Then the voice of legendary announcer Claudius Templesmith rings out, signaling the beginning of the sixty-second wait before the land mines get deactivated.

"Ladies and gentlemen, let the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games begin!"

I blink to adjust my eyes to the light, and the first thing that comes into focus is the Cornucopia directly in front of me. The horn-like structure stands in the center of a plain, filled to the brim with the best of the supplies. We tributes stand in an evenly spaced circle about two hundred feet in diameter. Scattered inside the circle are more supplies arranged in decreasing value based on their distance from the Cornucopia. Behind the tributes at the far end of the ring I see a giant forest, extending from a large lake to my left all the way around before thinning out at the edge of the circle on my right. Behind me, the plain ends and reaches some sort of drop-off about a hundred feet away.

My heart sinks; the forest promises the best chance of hiding, but the nearest tree is at least six hundred feet away, and that's if I cut across the edge of the tribute circle, toward where Vincent is standing, four tributes to my right. The only positive is that the other tributes would have to first sprint inward to retrieve the weapons that could be used to kill me. Still, I doubt I would be fast enough to get under cover in that direction before the Bloodbath begins. I look at the tributes directly to my left and my right, and realize my predicament is even more dire – I'm directly between the Arrogant One and Mermaid Girl, both of whom are more than capable of killing me with their bare hands. Moving sideways is out of the question.

My only hope is to risk the unknown void behind me. It could be a cliff, but it could also just be a downslope of some sort to another section of the arena. _Come on Max, think! _Usually the Gamemakers like to put the Cornucopia right in the center of the arena so they can get 360 degrees of action. The lake this year has already cut off about a third of the area, so if it really is a cliff behind me, it would basically place the Cornucopia at one end of the playable surface. No, the chances are that there's somewhere to go past that edge, for whoever is willing to risk it.

I make my decision and set my feet as I wait for the sound of the gong that will signal the end of the sixty seconds. It would be highly ironic if I were to be killed right now by the very weapons that are my only hope to survive this ordeal.

As soon as the gong rings out, I sprint directly away from the Cornucopia and toward the void, not pausing to pick up even the most insignificant item. I must look completely pathetic to any potential sponsor. But time and distance is my most pressing need right now. If this _does_ turn out to be a cliff, my only chance will be to scramble along the edge of the plain toward the forest, and hope that the ones with the weapons will be too busy fighting each other to notice me.

As I approach the edge, I breathe a sigh of relief. As I had hoped, it's not a cliff. Instead I see a steep slope leading down into an endless field of grass and wheat. I scramble over the edge, and then I pause to take a quick look back at the unfolding Bloodbath.

The majority of the action is happening in the inner half of the circle, where the supplies range from moderately to extremely useful. I see the Girl on Fire wrestling with the District 9 boy over a backpack, while Psycho Knife Girl picks up a handful of – what else? – knives from the entrance of the Cornucopia. Both of the tributes from District 1 pick up weapons right next to her, but they completely ignore each her in favor of other targets, proving that the Career Alliance is intact for now. As I watch, Knife Girl throws a knife into the back of District 9, who collapses to the ground, allowing Fire Girl to turn and flee toward the forest with her backpack. Angry Two runs a spear through the boy from District 6 while the redheaded girl from District 5 runs right past them, also headed for the tree line. The giant from District 11 pushes away the boy from District 8, grabs a backpack and turns in my direction...

All thoughts of observing the rest of the Bloodbath are banished from my mind as I throw myself down the incline and plunge into the field of grass. All I know is that at least one other tribute is going to be headed into this part of the arena, and I have maybe a 30-second head start. If District 11 is any good at tracking, I'm dead. I have absolutely no chance at beating him in a fair fight.

I can only run for a few minutes before I'm forced to stop and catch my breath. I force myself to try and calm down so I can think with a clear head. The grass on either side of me is almost twice my height, completely muffling all the sounds of the battle behind me. I focus on the last image in my mind before it was filled with panic. District 11 _pushing_ District 8. He had such a huge physical advantage, even without weapons. I have no doubt he could have snapped District 8's neck. Or, at least knocked him out with a punch. I try to remember my mental notes from scouting the others during training. He's not a Career. I remember that he stood up to them when they tried to bully the little girl from his district, so he's certainly willing to stand up to a threat. But he's probably not a killer, not unless you force him to defend himself. He's coming to this field to hide, not to track me down and kill me. At least, I hope he's not.

The thought calms me down enough to reflect on what else I had witnessed before District 11 headed in my direction. From a distance, it had looked and sounded just like every other Bloodbath that I had witnessed on television in my fifteen years of life. But it's ten times worse. The screams echoing in my head feel so much more real to me this time. Part of it is probably because I'm closer to the horror than I have ever been before, but there's something more. These are not just characters in a life and death drama unfolding before my eyes as the Capitol would like to pretend. In the past week, I have lived, eaten and trained with the other children who are dying today. Despite my best efforts to remain detached and think of them as obstacles to my getting home rather than as people, I just can't help it. Real people are dying today, and more must die, some by my hand, if I'm going to make it home. The thought is so overwhelming that for a moment I consider giving up my plan and just hiding until death finds me. But then I remember Beetee's last message for me. I can't let him down. _Follow the plan,_ I tell myself. _Block everything else out_.

Right now, the plan calls for me to explore this field and find water. My mentor and I had agreed that second or third night would be the best time to approach the Careers with my proposal. Hopefully by then they will have become sick and tired of having to leave someone behind on guard duty. There's even a slight possibility that someone will have attempted a raid on the supplies to demonstrate just how much help I could provide. But I can only hold out until the third night if I have water to drink. And until I show my hand by approaching the Careers, I'm certain to have exactly zero sponsors.

I begin to move through the field again, but this time I take it slow, more focused on being quiet and observant rather than moving quickly. I know from watching the past Games that the Careers won't leave the Cornucopia until things have settled down and they've divided the supplies. The signal for that event will be the firing of the cannons to count the casualties of the Bloodbath. Until then, I'm almost certain that it's just me and District 11 in this entire field. Anyone else who escaped the Bloodbath would have run for the forest.

It's an eerie experience. Even though I am only a few hundred feet from the plain of the Cornucopia, I can hear nothing but the sound of my boots and the wind rustling through the stalks of grass, which tower above my head. Any sounds from the Bloodbath are completely muted by the foliage. The constant rustling soon has me terrified. My mind conjures images of other tributes stalking me through the grass. But no one attacks me. I try to calm myself down by thinking logically. There is absolutely no visibility in this field. The wind is causing most if not all of the rustling, making it impossible for me to know if someone is moving near me. If I can't hear them, they can't hear me, either. So the only way we'd encounter each other is if we walked right into each other by random chance. And given the size of this field, the odds of that happening are almost zero. The logic doesn't totally convince me, but it calms me down enough so that I'm not completely frozen with terror. I hear Beetee's voice in my head. _Execute the plan_. Gathering myself together, I begin to move forward again.

A while later, I squeeze between two stalks of grass and abruptly find myself on the edge of a small clearing. A few feet to my right, back in the direction of the Cornucopia, is what appears to be a path. On the other side of the clearing, the path continues in the opposite direction. After more than an hour of struggling to push my way through increasingly thicker stalks of grass, it's inviting, so inviting.

I consider my options. If I take the path, my chances of running into another tribute are higher, but so far I have made no progress discovering anything useful about this field. If there's a water source, the path will probably lead to it. The alternative is to keep fighting my way through the high grass blindly in hopes of randomly walking directly into a pond.

Another thought occurs to me. The other tributes are not my only danger. . The Gamemakers add traps of their own. I remember one year when a tribute who had wiped out much of the field and looked to be the favorite was taken out by an avalanche. (There were rumors that the Gamemakers had added that hazard because the boy was using his fallen competitors as a food source, even after being ordered to stop.) But am I more likely to run into a Gamemaker trap on the path or in the foliage?

After several minutes of weighing my options, tiredness wins out. I really don't want to keep struggling through the pathless grass. But I'm extra cautious as I step slightly farther into the clearing. That's probably what saves my life.

I'm a few feet in when my next step finds some soil that feels much too loose. I put a little bit more pressure and suddenly the ground shifts under my right foot. I react instantly, pushing off my left foot and diving back to the edge of the clearing and grabbing on to some of the plants for support. It's not a moment too soon, because the entire clearing has turned into something like quicksand, threatening to swallow up anyone who happens across it. It's not real quicksand, but something far more dangerous that the Gamemakers have put in. One of my feet is submerged in the sand and I can literally feel the suction trying to drag me in. It takes a monumental effort on my part to pull it out and scramble to safety.

As I lay panting on the edge of the clearing and wait for my heart to stop pounding over how close I just came to Death by Drowning in Sand, I suddenly realize I'm not alone. The hulking form of District 11 is standing over me with a large rock in his hand, poised to strike.

* * *

_Oh nos! What will happen to our beloved Max? Will Thresh bash his head in? =P Sorry about sticking a cliffhanger into a story that you all already know how it will end, but I couldn't pass it up. Actually, I do have a quick poll for all of you. I have two versions of the next chapter - one in which there's another glimpse of Thresh after the cliffhanger gets resolved, and one without Max seeing Thresh again. I kinda prefer the first one, but would that be overkill to have so much Thresh in one chapter? But once Max joins up with the Careers, opportunities to be creative will be very limited. Anyways, let me know what you think!_


	10. Chapter 10

_Thanks again to everyone who commented and gave your input. I hope I made the right decision. Anyways, on to the chapter!_

_Disclaimer: I don't own anything, Suzanne Collins does._

* * *

Chapter 10

_I'm dead._ All that planning and preparation, all the work that Beetee and I put in – it's all for nothing. I have barely lasted two hours. From my position, there is no way I can make a move, either to attack or to flee, before District 11 crushes my head with that rock. Pleading will be useless and probably will make it even worse for my family watching at home. No, there's nothing I can do. I brace myself for the death blow. I just hope it doesn't hurt too much.

But the blow never comes. A minute passes, then two. Tentatively, I look up at the boy who holds my life in his hands. He's still holding on to the giant rock, but there is indecision written on his face. I realize how I must appear to him: a pitiful, helpless, unarmed little child. Exactly how Beetee wanted the others to see me. Finally, District 11 makes a decision, lowering the rock to a more defensive position without relaxing his guard.

"The clearing… is a trap?" he asks.

"Y-y-yes… quicks-s-sand." When I find my voice, I'm the stuttering boy from the interview all over again.

"Thanks for showing me. You don't attack me, I won't kill you," he says. "Not today. But stay clear of me, understand?" I nod meekly, and without another word he disappears into the foliage. Heart pounding, I head off in the opposite direction. _The giant from District 11 just spared my life_. Why? Was it really because I accidentally saved him from the quicksand trap and so he felt like he owed me? Or is it because he doesn't want to be a killer? Either way, I'm almost certain now that his strategy will be to defend and defend, until either the Careers or the Gamemakers force him into a confrontation. I file this knowledge away in my brain; it may be useful later, if my plan succeeds and I survive. Of course, now that I owe him my life, how can I possibly try to kill him?

I turn my attention to the more pressing task at hand. I need to find water, and I need to be safely hidden by nightfall, when the Careers will start their first hunt. But just exploring and fighting my way through the grass proves to be an ordeal. The blazing sun beats mercilessly down from its spot high in the sky. At this time of day, the stalks of grass offer no shade because of the angle of the sun. Instead, all they do is stifle the air around me. What little wind there is blows high over the top of my head, offering no relief. Make no mistake: the arena is designed to make tributes suffer as much as possible before they die. The only thing that makes me feel a little better is the knowledge that others are suffering through worse: the cannons have not yet fired, so that means the tributes at the Bloodbath are still battling to the death in this unbearable heat.

After another couple of hours, I realize that wandering around blindly in the high grass is simply not going to work. I'm expending way too much energy, and the hot sun is dehydrating me quickly. When I stumble upon the path again, some distance past the clearing, I decide to risk it and try to find out where it leads. After all, since the trap was in the clearing, whoever reached this point would have already passed one test.

My decision turns out to be a good one as the path eventually winds its way down into a valley. From the top, I can see that it leads to a spring of fresh water. On the other side of the pool are some rocks that form a little cave that would make a perfect shelter. It looks so inviting that I start to hurry excitedly toward the water without even thinking.

I've only taken a few steps downward when my brain kicks in and I stop abruptly. _It can't be as easy as it looks, can it?_ Remembering the trap in the clearing, I get a feeling that there must be some danger down there. For a few minutes, I stand still, trying to absorb every detail of the pool below me. And then I see a movement at the edge of the grass by the rock pile that makes my blood run cold.

A large animal emerges from the grass. Six feet long. Scaly hide. Low, elongated body and a giant triangular head that seems to be made of nothing but teeth. I've learned about this animal in school, when we studied the different Muttations. An alligordile. During the Dark Days, the Capitol used them to protect sources of water: Rivers, ponds, lakes. Their powerful jaws could snap an unsuspecting rebel in half. We were shown pictures as proof. They move surprisingly fast and are very hard to kill.

My heart sinks. I've found water, but there's no way for me to gain access to it. If someone is going to use that watering hole, they'll have to defeat the monster down there. That person is definitely not going to be me. I'm weak and I'm weaponless and I would have been dead meat if I had gone down there. And considering how well-defended it is, it's probably the only water source in this whole section of the arena.

As I stand there frozen, my attention focused on the monster below, I am shocked by what happens next. The alligordile whirls quickly at a movement on the edge of the pool. A rock strikes it, then another. A moment later, he comes into view. The boy from District 11. In one hand, he holds another large rock, and in the other he wields a long stick – no, it's a spear! It must be a sponsor gift. _He's challenging the alligordile for the watering hole!_ That's virtually suicide. Well, at least for me, it would be. He's a lot bigger and stronger than me, and he's armed. I guess he's come to the same conclusion as I have. If he wants water, he'll have to defeat the Mutt.

I suppose I could go down and try to help him. But he told me to stay away from him. Besides, I'm completely unarmed, so the only thing I could do is be the bait and act as a distraction. But as anyone from District 4 can tell you, the bait usually gets eaten. No, I can't help. But I don't want to stand here and watch his gruesome death, either. Besides, whoever wins this fight will still be blocking me from the water. I scramble up the path, putting as much distance as possible between me and the battle, and trying hard not to imagine what might be happening to the giant from District 11.

A few minutes later, I reach the edge of the clearing and plunge off into the grass to one side. Exhausted, I decide that I have to rest and think. This is as good of a spot as any, since there's a good chance that anyone or anything in my vicinity will take the path and fall into the sand trap.

I try to evaluate my situation. I won't last long without water. Maybe there is another water source, but if there is, it's sure to be as well-defended as the first one. Besides, it's highly unlikely that I'll find it in time. I might as well move up the schedule. No point dying of thirst before trying out the most audacious plan in the history of the Games.

* * *

Lying here on the ground in the warm sun, I manage to do something which I could not do last night in my luxury bed: I fall asleep. I'm jolted awake by the sound of the cannons firing to mark the casualties of the Bloodbath. I'm disoriented and groggy, but I manage to count at least 10. Did Pixie make it? I don't remember seeing her at the Bloodbath. Maybe she got out of there quick. But there was so much happening, I can't be sure. What about Vincent? From the look on his face when I saw him back at launch, he was planning to head inward, toward the good stuff near the entrance of the Cornucopia. The odds of him having survived are not very good. I try to tell myself that it doesn't matter either way. They both have to die sometime in the coming days for me to go home. After all, there can be only one victor.

I spend the rest of the afternoon thinking about the ten dead tributes. Ten children whose lives have been cut short. Ten children already being packaged into plain wooden boxes and shipped back home to their families for burial. Of course, compared to the thirteen others who will die later, they are the lucky ones. At least their suffering was short, and their families can begin to grieve right away, rather than gaining hope as the field shrinks, only to have it snatched away from them before the end.

Night begins to fall, and my heart rate increases. Soon the faces of the dead will appear in the sky. And soon, the Careers will be out hunting, if they aren't already. If they happen to find me out here as a pack, they'll probably kill me before I can get two words out. I just have to gamble that they won't. I think my odds are fairly good; I estimate that the chances are over 90% that the Careers will first hunt in the forest, where it looked like the majority of the Others had headed. At least, from the quick glimpse that I had when I fled the Bloodbath.

I start moving in the direction that I memorized earlier as being that of the Cornucopia, though I don't dare take the path. I know I'm not very far in, but I need to get to the edge of the field before the end of the first day's recap, or I'll be in more or less complete darkness.

I don't make it. Either I underestimated the distance back to the Cornucopia or I overestimated the amount of time I had before nightfall. But I'm still surrounded on all sides by the tall grass when the national anthem sounds and they start showing the death recap for Day One. _I broke the streak! _Goal number one accomplished.

Any feeling of elation is immediately wiped away as the seal of the Capitol is replaced with the face of the first dead tribute. It's Pixie. The sight of her face brings a mixture of emotions boiling up inside of me, but I force myself to ignore them, because when you are in the arena, the faces in the sky are the only way of keeping track of who's been eliminated and who's still in the Games. If Psycho Knife Girl were to die, for example, it would be a waste of effort for someone to worry about getting knifed by her.

The next face is a surprise: the Career boy from District 4. The Careers almost never fight each other during the Bloodbath, because doing so would allow the rest of the field to do the one thing they most desperately want: to escape the Cornucopia with weapons and supplies, enough to hide and ambush the hunters later on. And from what I saw, these Careers were not interested in fighting each other… yet. _Hmm_, I guess one of the Others must have gotten lucky and taken him out, although for the life of me I can't figure out who it could be. The most likely candidate, the boy from District 11, had run straight for the field like me.

The rest of the casualties are Others: the boy from District 5, both from District 6, Vincent and his district partner from District 7, the boy from District 8, both from District 9, and the girl from District 10. Wait… that makes 11. I must have miscounted the cannons earlier today. _So who's left?_ Five Careers. The girls from Districts 5 and 8. Gimpy from District 10 – that's a shocker. And both from Districts 11 and 12. _Both from District 11?_ That means the Giant must have won his battle with alligordile. He's quickly proving that his training score of ten was well-deserved. I'm still missing someone… Oh, it's me, duh.

The Capitol seal appears again after the girl from District 10, indicating that the list is complete. After a few seconds, it disappears, plunging the arena into the darkness of night as abruptly as a light bulb being turned off.

The emotions finally overwhelm me. It feels like the darkness is not only surrounding me, but inside of me as well. _Pixie is dead._ The poor, helpless little girl that I have grown to care about in the past week is gone. Her body lifted out of the arena in a hovercraft and sent back to her grieving family. Her life ended in minutes by this barbaric slaughter that they dare call a Game. I've never hated the Capitol as much as I do this very moment.

I'm glad for the darkness, because it should make it hard for the cameras to pick up the tears that are streaming down my cheeks. I touch my hand to my heart and raise my palm up to the sky, parting my middle and fourth fingers for our district's traditional farewell salute. "Geegee, Pixie," I whisper.

I spend the next hour thinking over all that I have already experienced in one short day in the arena. I grieve for Vincent, too, although it's not as strong because I only ever had one conversation with him – a conversation in which he may or may not have been sincere with me. But it doesn't matter any more. Whatever strategy he had, Panem will never know.

A while later, my thoughts finally return to my own situation and the task at hand. _I am still alive, and I have a plan_. I can hear Beetee's voice in my head telling me to think and work out what is happening with the other tributes. What do I know? The Career pack is down to five, which should be helpful to me. Without my assistance, they'd have to hunt with only four, which is potentially risky since the two from District 12 are undoubtedly allied. The tiny girl from 11 might be with them, too, since she is clearly not with her district partner here in the field. The other three are probably out on their own – none showed any friendliness to any others during training.

The most urgent issue is that four of the five Careers are probably out hunting right now. I need to get back to the Cornucopia, determine if the Career camp is nearby, and play my gambit. I can't do that if I stay where I am right now. But moving through this field in almost pitch blackness proves to be virtually impossible. I can only move at a snail's pace, stopping often to listen for any sign that something or someone is near me. The slightest breeze causes the grass to rustle menacingly, and the jagged stalks which were already spooky in the daytime appear even more sinister at night. Soon I'm practically shivering with fear. Or maybe it's the cold. The temperature in the arena has dropped rapidly since sunset. Despite being mercilessly hot in the day, it is now bitterly cold at night.

After about an hour, I give up for the night. I'm hungry, thirsty, cold and exhausted. I don't have a clue how much farther I still have to go. And I'm very likely to blunder into a trap or make so much noise that someone will find me, if I keep trying to move. At least if I stay still I can listen for sounds of danger around me. Curling up as best as I can under my jacket, I try to rest, all the while cursing myself for my stupidity. I should have started to move sooner. Now I've probably lost my window of opportunity for tonight, which means a whole second day without food or water. It's a horrifying prospect.

I guess I must have eventually dozed off, because I am once again awakened by the sound of a cannon. A single shot, indicating that, in all likelihood, the hunting Careers have found a victim. There's no way of telling who it was until the death recap many hours from now. Looking around, I realize that dawn is approaching. It's still mostly dark, but the eastern sky is growing lighter. I look ahead of me and through a gap in the grass, I can just make out the hill that leads back to the Cornucopia. I'm actually fairly close to the edge of the field. _Maybe it's not too late!_

In the few minutes it takes me to reach the end of the grass, I begin having second thoughts. _If this doesn't work, I'm dead._ I don't think I can make myself do this. But somehow, at that very moment, I hear Beetee's voice echo in my head, as clearly as if he was standing next to me. _"If you choose an alternate strategy, you will still almost certainly die."_ If I don't go up there right now, I'll suffer through an unbearable day of thirst and hunger. And if I'm lucky enough to survive it, I'll still have to make the same decision tomorrow night. _Come on Max, you _have_ to do this._ I take a deep breath to steel myself, and quietly creep up the slope towards the Cornucopia.

As I peer over the edge of the plain, I can see that I'm in luck. The Careers, as expected, have made camp near the lake. A lone girl – District 4, I think – sits motionless guarding the supplies; the others must still be out hunting. _Here goes nothing._ I slip out onto the plain and creep towards the lake. The words of my mentor ring in my head: _"You must appear weak to them. Never give them a hint that you have a plan or they'll never trust you."_

It's a strange feeling walking out into the open. I'm still scared to death that this might fail. But there's another feeling, a feeling of anticipation and almost… excitement. It's the same feeling that I used to get back in the Shop after finishing my repairs and powering up the product to see if it works. All of our planning, all of Beetee's hard work, have led me to this moment.

I'm about twenty feet from the lake when I see the Career – it's definitely Mermaid Girl – stand up and creep toward me. She doesn't appear to be armed, which is a good sign, although she's strong enough to kill me with her bare hands, of course. My heart is pounding with fear, but I force myself to pretend that I don't notice her, and reach down as if I was going to drink the water straight out of the lake.

As soon as I bend toward the water, Mermaid Girl closes the gap between us with surprising speed, grabbing me from behind before I can react. _Boy, she's strong!_ – she lifts me up and tosses me on the ground with very little effort. "Well, well, well, what have we here? A little rat looking for a drink? What shall I do with it? Kill it quick, or give you a show?" It's when she asks the last question that I realize she's talking directly to the cameras. Playing it up for the sponsors. Well, that's fine. I'm about to say the words that will completely upstage her anyways. Hopefully nothing interesting is happening in rest of the arena and the cameras are trained on us expecting to see a kill. I start shaking as though I was terrified for my life, but as I do so, the thought hits me that I'm actually not. I've been surrounded by fear from the moment I left the launch room, but as long as I'm following the plan, it's a healthy fear.

"Y-you don't have t-to do this," I say, looking up at the girl towering over me.

"Of course I do," she laughs. "The only question is whether I will make it quick or slow. How about this? If you beg for your life, right now, I won't make it hurt… too much." She begins to lean toward me menacingly.

"Wait! I can help you guys!" I cry out, allowing my voice to rise in desperation.

"What could a sniveling little rat from District 3 possibly contribute to our alliance?" she sneers.

_This is it. This is my moment._

"I can reactivate the land mines for you."

* * *

_And thus endeth Part II. Four chapters left. (Although several of you have requested a Beetee epilogue/one-shot, so we'll see what happens. I'm not sure if I'm going to write it yet, and if I do, I may or may not make it a separate story.)_


	11. Part III: THE FLAW

_Thanks to everyone who has been reading, reviewing and favoriting. Before we start the third and final part, I need to warn you: I wasn't kidding when I said that this is intended to be a companion piece to __"A Fox's View", "Love is a Battlefield" and "Cripple". Now that Max is about to join up with the Careers, much of the events and dialogue will be directly taken from those fics, in particular "Love is a Battlefield" with regard to much of the stuff involving Clove. __The universe created by_ ___**Caisha702**____ (and **be-nice-to-nerds**) is pretty much indistinguishable from canon in my mind, so it would be nearly impossible for me to deviate from their version of the events. So if you've read (or written) the aforementioned fics and my story starts feeling redundant, I apologize. But it won't be exactly the same because we get Max's perspective on things._

_____As always, I own nothing and Suzanne Collins owns everything. Except for the title, which JK Rowling owns._

* * *

**Part III**

**"THE FLAW"**

Chapter 11

The girl from District 4 stares at me with her mouth agape for an eternity. Then she closes it with an audible snap. "You're lying."

With the slightest movement, she draws a knife out of her belt and holds the blade under my chin. "Look me in the eye and say that again."

With my throat inches from certain death, it's easy for me to act intimidated. "P-Please, I'm serious. I know h-h-how to work with electronics. That was my life before… before I was brought here. Please, give me a ch-chance to prove it to you!"

She pauses to consider for a moment, and I know it's all or nothing, right here, right now. I gesture toward the launch ring around the Cornucopia. "Just think about it, those are the most p-powerful weapons in the arena. Think of what you can do with them! You can use them to protect your supplies. O-Or as booby traps to take out the other tributes!"

She lowers the knife without relaxing her guard. "Let's see what the others think. But if you're lying to me, you _will_ wish I had tortured you to death just now." I breathe a sigh of relief. I'm not safe yet, but so far everything is going according to plan. _Beetee was right_.

The girl motions with her knife in the direction of the camp. "Can I get some water first, please?" I ask. "I haven't had a thing to drink all day."

"The lake water is unpurified. You'll get sick. No wonder you had such a dismal training score."

I'm tempted to point out that I didn't exactly have the option of leisurely browsing the supply pile and picking up some purifier tablets if I was to survive the Bloodbath, but I remember I need to appear as weak as possible. So I just nod meekly.

"There's some drinking water over there; you can have a little. Now walk, and remember if you try anything, I will carve you into little pieces for hours before your cannon sounds."

_Well, you're going to have to get in line behind Knife Girl and Arrogant One_. The list of Careers who have threatened to torture me to death is growing impressively large.

When we reach the campsite, the girl shoves me to the ground. "Sit down there. If you move a muscle then I will kill you."

So I sit. As the minutes pass by, I ponder my situation. I'm far beyond the point of no return now, but success is still very much uncertain. I have convinced one of the Careers to consider my proposal, but now my life depends on the whims of the other four, who should be returning soon. The only consolation is that I must have the attention of potential sponsors now. All of Panem must be watching me closely.

After several more minutes of silence, Mermaid Girl asks me if I really can activate the mines. There's a hint of nervousness in her voice, and for the first time I realize that this could go very badly for her if I don't back up my claims. Her district partner is dead, leaving her already weaker faction hopelessly dominated by the other three. If I fail, her cannon could sound very shortly after my own.

Before I can respond, I am distracted by a movement at the edge of the forest. The hunting pack has returned, talking amongst themselves. I catch the tail end of their conversation. Apparently Arrogant One had failed to make sure a girl was dead, and "Lover Boy" had to go back and finish her. _Wait... Lover Boy?_ I stare at the pack in shock. There are five of them, not four. The two from District 1 and the two from District 2, of course, but also the Boy on Fire from District 12! This changes everything. Maybe his declaration of love during the interview was nothing more than a ploy, a trick. Perhaps he's already betrayed her to the Careers and it was her cannon that fired this morning. The girl with the eleven may already be out of the Games!

But I don't have time to consider all the ramifications right now. The Careers are striding over, looking furious. "What are you playing at?" screams Angry Two, pushing the Mermaid Girl out of the way and drawing his sword with a murderous look in his eyes. _Crap. He's not going to wait for an explanation._ Can I run? No. It's all over.

"He could be very useful to us!" the girl answers quickly, putting one arm in front of me as if to shield me. "Just give me a chance to explain."

For a minute, everything is frozen as the boy considers her words. I don't even dare to breathe, knowing how perilous my situation is. Finally, he lowers his sword and says to me, "Very well. Boy, go over there and wait. If you move –"

"Yes, I know, I will die a long and painful death." _Did I really just say that out loud?_ That was bold of me.

Too bold. Psycho Knife Girl knocks me down with a slap to the face. "Don't interrupt! Just go over there, and if you move then you will suffer the same fate as the bag you will be sitting on."

I keep my mouth shut as Knife Girl gives yet another demonstration of her skill, casually throwing three knives into a bag some twenty feet away. My face still stinging from the painful blow, I obey her instructions and sit down on the bag, next to the knives.

The six of them sit down in a circle some distance away, and I can see District 4 explaining my proposal to them. Suddenly, I realize that they have given me a possible way out. I can grab the knives and sprint for the forest and then… then they'll probably catch me and kill me. My chances of outrunning all six of them – five of whom are fully trained Careers – are very small, especially with Knife Girl's ability to hit me from a distance. But if it becomes obvious that they don't like my idea, it's worth a shot, because the alternative will be to sit here and let them kill me.

Unfortunately, they speak in low voices so I can't make out how the conversation is going, though it's clear that they're divided about my fate. Even from this distance, however, it's pretty easy to guess who is on which side of the debate. Knife Girl is strongly against my idea, but the pair from District 1 side with Mermaid Girl. District 12 says nothing for much of the discussion, and when he finally speaks up, I assume he's telling a joke because Knife Girl cracks up laughing. But when he speaks again and raises his hand, I realize he's calling for a vote. One, two, three other hands go up, outvoting the pair from District 2, but from my observations of the Career pack I'm pretty sure those votes are irrelevant – Angry Two is the Alpha Male of the pack. I see him nod and get to his feet, leading the others back toward me.

My heart races as they start moving. This is my last chance to abort. But I can't run unless I am absolutely sure that they intend to kill me. And I still have no idea what Angry Two is thinking. Then it's too late. My last tiny opportunity for escape is gone as they approach and surround me. Whatever happens next will be out of my control.

_This is it. My life is in your hands. Please don't kill me._

Angry Two looks directly at me and says harshly, "Lover Boy, dig up the mines."

Relief fills every ounce of my being as I let out a breath that I didn't know I was holding. Moments later, though, I'm shocked as Arrogant One suddenly draws his sword and strides up to me. _What the Snow? You voted _for_ me_.

"If you hurt me then I won't be able to reactivate the mines," I remind him.

Not a good idea.

"How dare you answer me back!" He brings the blade of the sword right to my neck and for a second, I actually think I blew it and he's really going to kill me.

"Marvel! Stop!" Bizarrely, the shout comes from Psycho Knife Girl, of all people. She's the one who wants me dead most of all.

"Clove, you need to calm down. Although I can't deny that you are very sexy when you're angry," sneers Arrogant One as he lowers the sword and walks toward her. I watch as she responds by leveling him with a single punch to the face. _Yikes._ It's been less than a day and already the Career alliance is the verge of breaking down. And also, Knife Girl is the scariest human being in all of Panem not named President Snow.

"Have you dug the mines up yet, Lover Boy? District 3, you'd better work quickly or I may start to run out of patience. Believe me, you wouldn't want that to happen. Cato, we need some more water." Maybe I'm wrong about the Alpha. Knife Girl is the one giving all the orders.

Lover Boy and I hurry over to the launch circle where we all entered the arena yesterday morning. Could it really have been less than twenty-four hours since all this started? And already, half of us are dead. "What's your name?" he asks.

"Max."

"I'm Peeta. Welcome to the alliance," he says to me warmly. The contrast between his demeanor and that of the five Careers is remarkable. He's pretty beat up, though. Bruises all over his face. Bloody bandage over one arm. As he gets ready to start digging, he stops and asks anxiously, "Are you sure it's safe?"

"If they weren't deactivated, we'd all have been blown up yesterday, right?" I say. My own nervousness is apparent in my voice, as realize the peril that we are in. If the Gamemakers wanted to, they could probably press a button and have them reactivated immediately. My only hope is that I've impressed them sufficiently to allow me to play out my part in their sick drama. "Well, if not, at least it will be over quick," I say. _There. No one wants to see a quick death that doesn't involve one tribute killing another. You'd be making things less interesting if you kill us right now._

As Lover Boy tentatively digs out the dirt around the first platform, my heart sinks. This is far more complicated than your basic land mine. I can see that there are six separate mines arranged in a ring around the platform, all of which are connected together by a bundle of wires which lead to a small plastic box which I hope houses the control unit._ Of course! If someone steps off the platform early, all the mines in the ring blow up simultaneously so there's no escape. _If I can figure out how to separate them, I could conceivably have 144 distinct weapons to use. But no… if I manage to completely remove the control unit I probably wouldn't be able to safely arm the mines without triggering them. More importantly, I wouldn't be able to disarm them again, which is vital for the final phase of the plan.

Lover Boy interrupts my thoughts with the obvious question. "So, can you really do it?" I know the cameras are probably locked on our conversation right now, so if I'm going to get the sponsorship that I need I'm going to have to demonstrate some confidence. "Yes. I work with electronics at home. I can figure this out; I just need a little time."

And now, to show my potential sponsors that I am serious about trying to win, I need to gather as much information as I can, so I risk a question. "So, did… did you really k-kill that g-girl like the others said you did?" I stutter so it sounds like I'm asking out of fear rather than curiosity.

To my surprise, he glances around to make sure no one is close enough to hear, and tells me, "Marvel did. He cut her so badly that by the time I went back she was almost gone. I knocked her out so she wouldn't feel the pain anymore and then she died." The sadness in his voice is unmistakable.

"Was she your partner?" This information is vital to me.

"No, District 8… I think." There's a hint of relief in his voice. "She lit a fire. Katniss would never have been that stupid."

Something about the way that he says her name, combined with his relief at the fact that it wasn't her that died this morning, perplexes me. Everything about his manner suggests that he actually does care about his district partner, but then what is he doing here, allied with the Careers? Lover Boy is a walking paradox. Could he possibly be working on an angle, infiltrating this group so he can use the element of surprise to help protect Fire Girl? _Well damn. I need the Careers to take her out before I betray them. She's clearly the biggest threat amongst the Others._ And then I'm horrified with myself for wishing the death of a girl who this boy clearly cares about – this boy who harbors no ill-will whatsoever towards me. But this is what the Capitol has done to us. It will require nothing less than the deaths of my 23 fellow tributes in order for me to see my family again.

As Peeta – I mean, Lover Boy – moves on to the second set of mines, he asks me, "I bet you're wondering why I'm here with the Careers, huh?" I shrug, trying to pretend that the information doesn't mean that much to me. "They offered me a deal that I couldn't refuse. They'll let me live if I help them find Katniss."

_Well, yeah, I figured that much out for myself._ "B-but, what about your interview?"

"I wasn't lying. I really do care – did care – about her. But the rules say that only one person can be the winner."

_Only one person can be the winner_. I guess that could explain it. I had thought that he would have wanted to spend as much of the remaining time as possible with the girl he loves. But when you get into the arena, you have to do what gives you the best chance of survival. Besides, who am I to criticize his decision to join the Careers, when I have done the exact same thing?

Peeta continues to chat amicably with me as we continue around the circle digging up mines. His friendliness cannot help but remind me of someone else that I have met this past week: Vincent. Alarm bells go off in my head. This is one of my weaknesses that Beetee had warned me about – getting emotionally attached to my fellow tributes. I have already done this with Vincent, and with Pixie. I can't afford to do this now with Pe… with _Lover Boy_. He's in the Career pack, and at some point, I am going to have to blow him up with the rest of them.

Thankfully, Psycho Knife Girl decides to interrupt our chat. "District 3, shouldn't you be taking the mines apart by now?" she yells. "Lover Boy can dig up the rest of them without your help." I nod meekly and head over to the growing pile of landmines.

* * *

It takes about an hour for me to take apart all the mines. Then I clear my mind and slip into my familiar mental zone, imagining that I am back at the Shop in District 3. Soon, I'm entirely engrossed in my work, almost completely forgetting the arena around me. All my attention is focused on the intricate maze of wires and circuits, figuring out exactly what purpose is served by each of the components. The very first thing that I did, of course, was to locate and disconnect the power sources. Rule number one when working on electronics: make sure they're unplugged first. There are two very practical reasons for this. Safety is one, obviously; you could get an electric shock if the system is live. But perhaps more important is that an accidental short circuit could damage the device even more. In my case, the two reasons are intertwined – a short could detonate the mines, which would be extremely unpleasant for me.

It takes me a little while to get a basic understanding of how the control unit functions. There is a built-in antenna to receive a signal from the Gamemakers, and also to broadcast back the status of the mine – armed or disarmed. Because the sensors are extremely sensitive, the mines are probably not activated until the moment the launch platforms have locked into place, beginning the sixty-second countdown. Then a second signal is sent as the gong sounds, deactivating the mines. The control unit itself performs a very simple function, acting as a gatekeeper between the sensors and the detonators. The sensors detect a change in pressure and send a signal to the control unit. If the mine is armed, the control unit relays the signal to the detonators, triggering the explosion. If the mine is unarmed, the control unit does not pass the signal through, so the mine doesn't explode.

Once I have figured that out, I realize that it would actually be pretty easy to bypass the control unit entirely. I'm actually kind of surprised that no one has ever considered doing this before – I'm pretty sure any tribute from District 3 could manage to get the mines to work again.

Of course, what _I_ want to do is far more complex. Simply reactivating the mines to booby trap the Career's supplies will only buy me a few days. Eventually, all the supplies will be used up, or the alliance will break down, or they'll simply decide to get rid of me. No, what I really need is a way to control the mines so that I can quickly turn them into weapons that I can use against the Careers. Perhaps I can rewire some of the explosives to act as grenades instead of mines; we probably don't need all 24 sets to protect the supplies. But then the others might get suspicious if they see me working on the unused parts. Anyways, what am I thinking? The sensors are so pressure-sensitive that just moving them around could trigger an explosion, let alone trying to throw them. It's possible that I could adjust the threshold on the sensors, but that might take hours with no guarantee of success...

For the moment, a solution does not present itself to me. So I do what I usually do to clear my head when I get stuck on a project back in the Shop – I take a break and get a snack. I'm so preoccupied with the land mine project that I don't actually think about the ramifications of what I am doing. I simply walk over and grab an apple and start eating. After a whole day without food, it tastes delicious. I've just picked up a bottle of water when I see a movement out of the corner of my eye. I look over and see Angry Two marching toward me with a furious look on his face. _Oops_.

I try to get back over to the disassembled mines, but he's too fast for me. He pushes me from behind with such force that my legs can't keep up with my body, and I tumble to the ground. "How much longer?" he screams.

"N-n-not long n-now." The stuttering is back, as I suddenly realize exactly how much peril that I am in. I gave Angry Two his nickname because he always seemed to be in a foul mood during training, but I never guessed that his fuse was _this_ short. It doesn't take much to set him off, and he could easily kill me in a fit of rage. _Yikes_. I need to placate him with an explanation, to show him that I know what I'm doing and that I'm making progress. "I just have to remove the wires that connect the remote to the mine. That's the part that allows the Gamemakers deactivate them. Deactivating that one part breaks the circuit so the electricity that provides the heat to make the powder explode can't work even if the mine is moved and the reaction is triggered."

By now I have the attention of all six of the others. I feel like I am Professor Ahyoo back at school, giving a lecture on the mechanics of a device. "That's how these differ from normal land mines. Normal land mines don't have a control unit; just the sensor and the explosives. There's a pin that keeps those two components separate, and once you pull it out, the mine is armed and can't be deactivated."

I'm really gaining momentum now. Imagining myself talking to Beetee, I go into even further technical detail about how the land mine works. "There's actually two different explosives in each mine. The primary explosive is a chemical that is highly stable under normal conditions. But when it is heated rapidly – which is what the booster charge does when ignited – the resulting explosion is extremely powerful. Now, the detonator works by sensing pressure – well, not so much pressure as pressure differential. They're extremely sensitive. If someone…"

At this point, Psycho Knife Girl has gotten tired of hearing me speak. "So all you have to do is make the circuit complete again, then the mines will work and the Gamemakers won't be able to deactivate them from the Control Room," she interrupts.

I stare at her in shock. The reason I was going into so much detail was that I was hoping to confuse them and make the job sound more difficult than it actually was. But Knife Girl wasn't fooled. _How can she understand any of this?_ District 2 does two things – mine rocks and train Careers for the Hunger Games. How could this girl possibly have ever gained a basic understanding of electronics?

Her district partner sees the reaction on my face. "Oh yes, District 3," he says, "I know nothing about physics and District 1 over there knows nothing about anything, but she is smart as well as lethal. Make sure you don't forget that."

I look over at Doll Face, who looks like she's trying to decide if Angry Two complimented her or insulted her. I think he managed to do both in one sentence. "Maybe we should just leave him to get on with it," she says. If we're going to be hunting at night then we need to sleep or we'll end up becoming the hunted instead of the hunters." I'm lucky to have her around as the voice of reason. This is the second time she's come to my defense. Well, sort of.

The Careers let me get back to work. I examine the mines again, trying to figure out exactly what to do with them. What really would be useful is if I were able to control them remotely, like the Gamemakers do. _Hmm. That's an idea._ Each control unit is a transmitter as well as a receiver, so what if I converted one of the boxes into a remote control? I'll have to change the frequency, though. The last thing I need is the Gamemakers overriding my relatively weak signal with their own far more powerful one.

I make my decision. _I can do this._ I completely take apart four of the mines. When Mermaid Girl asks me what I'm doing, I tell her I need the spare parts to make the remaining mines work. She obviously buys my explanation; I'm pretty sure no one taught _her_ how circuits work. She probably knows more about electric eels than she does about electricity.

Angry Two is harder to fool, however. When it's his turn to watch, he asks me question after question about what I am doing. "I thought you were disconnecting the remote, not rewiring it."

"T-the power source is part of the unit, I have to k-keep it attached for the mines to work," I tell him. I have a hard time deciding who is more dangerous, him or Psycho Knife Girl. I think Knife Girl's range makes her more lethal if they were both intent on killing me, but Angry Two seems a lot more unstable. And if he ever loses control, I'd be dead pretty quick. I keep working on modifying the control modules, but exhaustion is starting to set in. I have only had a couple of short naps since I entered the arena, and tired people get careless.

"Can I take a break, please? I'm really tired."

"Stop stalling," he growls.

"Really, I just need a little rest. I don't want to accidentally blow us all up."

The boy looks furious, but he sees the logic in my argument. "Fine. You have one hour. Then I expect you to get these mines activated."

I quickly grab a sleeping bag and lie down, breathing a sigh of relief. I just won a battle of the wills with District 2_. Maybe it _will_ be possible to manipulate the Careers into a trap_, I think as I drift off into sleep.

* * *

Much too soon, I am awoken by someone kicking me in my sleeping bag. My eyes fly open and I see that it's Doll Face. "Get up and start working. We didn't keep you alive so that you can get a better night's sleep than any of us while the threat of our presence protects you." _Protects me?_ _I just spent the last hour dreaming of you all killing me_. Looking around quickly, I see that Psycho Knife Girl is the only other one awake. I'm pretty sure she's looking for any reason at all to give up on the land mine idea, so I follow Doll Face's instructions and get back to work on the mines.

Doll Face proves to be a pretty pleasant person to work under, all things considered. She watches me intently, but she doesn't pester me with questions. I soon conclude that she doesn't have the slightest idea of what I'm actually trying to do with the mines, so I make decent progress on reconfiguring the control units before she yawns and decides it's time for a change in the watch. She walks over to Knife Girl, who has stayed awake this entire time. My heart sinks; Knife Girl is the last person in Panem that I would want supervising me. Not only does she have a better grasp on what my task is supposed to be than the others, I am simply freaking scared of her.

So I breathe a sigh of relief when I see her walk over to a sleeping Angry Two and wake him up. Although he's deeply enough asleep that he doesn't respond to Knife Girl's voice, he reacts instantly to her touch. A split second later, he has her pinned to the ground with a knife at her throat. It happened so fast that my mind can barely process what I just saw. Strangely, the girl shows no sign of fear at her predicament, and moments later Angry Two relaxes upon recognizing her and puts the knife down. Once again I'm struck by the apparent closeness between the two of them. Careers are pretty much the only tributes who will openly fight to the death with their own district partners, so letting your guard down could prove to be fatal. So it's extremely odd that two of the top contenders in the Games can be so trusting of each other. You'd almost think that… nah, that's ridiculous. The whole "star-crossed lovers" thing belongs to District 12, not District 2.

I'm prevented from contemplating further, because Knife Girl notices that I am watching the two of them. "Are those mines activated yet?" she screams at me.

_Crap. I'd better get back to work. _"Nearly."

Angry Two has had it with my stalling. "Good. If the job's not done in the next three hours then we will abandon the idea entirely, and you know what that means for you…"

So now I have a deadline. I'm not particularly worried about the threat to give up the idea, since I'm pretty sure I can do the simple bypass in a matter of minutes. Heck, I could lie to them and have them bury inactive mines – it's not like there's any way of testing them without blowing them up, which would not only deplete the stock, but give the others in the arena a clue of what is happening here at the camp. But I have a feeling that once the mines are buried I probably won't have much of a chance to work on them again. And if I can't control the mines, I'll need an entirely different way of wiping out the Careers.

Fortunately, I make the final breakthrough fairly quickly, and I finish with the mines long before the three hours are up. I give myself a moment to pause and admire my work. Twenty sets of working landmines that I can arm and disarm with a single push of a button from my remote control box, which just looks like a spare part to everyone else. A new feeling begins to creep through me: power. I have the most powerful weapons in the Games under my control, and the Careers don't have a clue. I have now become a real contender. Surely I've done enough to convince someone to sponsor me.

I break the news to Angry Two that the mines are ready. He looks surprised, but goes and wakes the others, starting with Knife Girl, who's fast asleep with her head practically in his lap. I don't say a word about it, though, since I'm afraid to make him angrier.

There's a discussion about how and where to arrange the supplies and the mines. Arrogant One thinks that we should surround the entire camp with mines, thereby protecting us if anyone tries to attack. "Who would be stupid enough to attack all seven of us? If we have to cross the minefield to get out, we'd only be hindering ourselves and risking our own lives," retorts Doll Face. The others don't like the idea of being anywhere near the live mines.

Mermaid Girl has a bright idea. "If we pile all the supplies together a safe distance away from our camp, it might tempt someone to try to run in there and steal something. When that happens…"

"Ka-boom. One less tribute for us to kill." Knife Girl grins evilly.

It's sunset by the time all the supplies have been moved. The bulk of the supplies are piled into a single pyramid. We surround it with some smaller piles out of lesser items in order to booby trap. At Lover Boy's suggestion, Arrogant One and Angry Two put up a canopy to protect the supplies and the soon-to-be minefield from objects being thrown at them. Now, all that remains is for me to arrange the mines.

"Wait," says Arrogant One. "There's still that big bag of apples." He hurries over and hangs the bag by a rope off the side of one of the large storage bins.

"Are you sure that's stable?" asks Mermaid Girl.

"Are you questioning my knot-tying skills? It'll be fine."

There's something rather foolish about hanging a bag of loose, round objects in the middle of a minefield, but just as I am about to protest, I hear Beetee's voice echo in my head once more: "_You must appear weak to them_." So I keep my mouth shut.

The others are too eager to begin tonight's hunt to worry about the apples. Angry Two calls me over and stares me down. "The minefield was your idea, so you will be the one to retrieve supplies for us when we need them. So you better not forget where you place the mines. Now hurry up and get them buried. I want the supplies completely protected by the time we return. Is that clear?"

"Y-yes, Cato." I've picked up most of their names by now, even though I prefer not to think of the others by name. But I can't exactly call him "Angry Two" to his face.

"Glimmer! Stay here and make sure Landmine Boy doesn't try anything stupid." Apparently Cato doesn't trust me enough to leave me unattended. I wonder if this will be the arrangement for every hunt. It certainly seems to defeat the purpose of having the supplies booby-trapped if they can't get that extra person out hunting.

I spend the next hour meticulously arranging the mines around the supplies. I can't prevent the six connected mines from going off simultaneously, but I have to make sure the different sets are spaced far enough apart that one explosion won't trigger a chain reaction. Of course, I can only guess at the blast radius, so I err on the side of caution. As a result, it's actually fairly easy to move through the minefield to get to the main pile of supplies, as long as you're being careful. The smaller piles are actually better protected, since I'm hoping anyone bold enough to try to raid us will head for the closest thing they can get to. Of course, there's no way I'm going to reveal to the others how easy it is to get through – they wouldn't need to keep me around anymore if they knew.

The anthem plays, and the girl from District 8 appears in the sky. I'm surprised to find that I feel anger over her death, even though I had virtually no interaction with her in the past week. Maybe it's the fact that she was just a helpless little girl, just like Pixie. Or maybe it's the fact that I know it was Arrogant One that killed her. The terrible truth hits me again: eleven more still have to die.

With my job completed, I start to lie down on my sleeping back to rest. Doll Face has other ideas, though. "If I have to stay awake, so do you." She forces me to sit next to her by the campfire, prodding me with a spear whenever it looks like I'm about to drift off.

It's a good thing we have the fire, though. As cold as last night was, it seems like tonight is even colder. Only a short while later, the other five return to the camp shivering. From their discussion, they were planning to come back and look for some warmer clothes, but instead they decide to simply give up for the night. I'm thankful for their choice, because it lets me off the hook and allows me to finally get some decent rest. Tomorrow, the Careers will resume their hunt, and once they take out the Girl on Fire and thin the rest of the field for me, it will be my time to strike. Tomorrow, the Games begin for real.

* * *

_Once again, many thanks to **Caisha702**__ for allowing me to use the descriptions and dialogue from her story, and for all her support and advice._


	12. Chapter 12

_I'm probably starting to sound like a broken record, but as always, thanks to all my reviewers!_

_Lots of disclaimers for this chapter: I own nothing. Suzanne Collins owns _The Hunger Games_ and all the characters therein. JK Rowling owns the title. **Caisha702** established this particular version of the Hunger Games universe, and is my inspiration for writing. In particular, this chapter draws from a scene in chapter 8 of "A Fox's View", as well as chapters 11-12 of "Love is a Battlefield". Vincent is **be-nice-to-nerds**'s OCC. Special shout-out to **-Lost In The Stars-** whose story "Through Another's Eyes" gave me the idea of having Peeta and Max bond during their short time together. Finally, credit to CS Lewis for the nickname Clove gives Max, which is borrowed from _Prince Caspian_. _

* * *

Chapter 12

The next day passes by uneventfully. The Careers maintain set on their plan of hunting at night, so everyone stays at the camp, resting up for what they hope will a productive and bloody evening.

It's fascinating – though quite nerve-wracking – observing the group dynamic at such close range. It's stressful for everyone to be together because of personality clashes, so there's a tendency to break off into smaller groups which sit some distance apart, keeping a wary eye on each other. Psycho Knife Girl and Angry Two – Clove and Cato – are nearly inseparable, but I notice Doll Face growing ever more friendly with Clove. Arrogant One pairs off with Mermaid Girl, although that's mostly because she's the only Career who is somewhat civil to him – his district partner and the pair from District 2 can't stand him at all.

That leaves me with Lover Boy. He's made an effort to be polite to everyone, but from the repeated insults it's clear that the Careers think of him as beneath them. I suppose that is something for us to bond over – the only two Others who have managed to infiltrate the Career alliance.

I haven't forgotten the danger involved in socializing with my fellow tributes, but it proves to be virtually impossible to shut Peeta out. For one thing, there is absolutely nothing else to do, so talking breaks up the boredom. And since the others only ever speak to me to either issue orders or make thinly-veiled death threats – usually both – I don't want alienate the only person nearby who doesn't hate me.

The other thing is that Lover Boy – Peeta – is just a genuinely pleasant person to chat with. He has a way with words that makes you feel comfortable talking to him. It reminds me not only of the dearly departed Vincent, but also of Caesar Flickerman – without the alarmingly white face and powder-blue hair, of course. I suppose if Peeta had been born in the Capitol, he might have one day grown up to be Caesar's replacement.

So we talk. He tells me about life in District 12 and I tell him about District 3. I suppose conversations like this are not uncommon between allies in the arena, but they never show them on the broadcasts of the Games. I guess the Capitol wants the districts to know as little about each other as possible. They don't mind so much if the tributes talk, since only one will be lifted out of the arena alive.

Through our conversation, I learn that, contrary to popular belief, not everyone in District 12 lives in the coal mines. Peeta's family runs a bakery. I guess there are certain basic services that are common to every district. They don't have an electronics repair shop there, though; they hardly ever get electricity unless the Games are on. I try to imagine having to go without electricity for long periods of time – in District 3, power outages hardly ever happen because without electricity the factories cannot operate.

Eventually, the subject of the Girl on Fire comes up. I'm dying to find out what she did to earn that eleven, but somehow I don't think Peeta would spill her secret so easily. So instead I ask, "What's going to happen when you all find her?"

"Killing her is not going to be as easy as they think it will be." A look of guilt crosses his face, as if he has said too much. "I mean, I think they underestimate her. Katniss is a very resourceful girl. She can take care of herself."

Peeta tells me about how his district partner used to take care of her mother and sister back in District 12, but I'm still pondering the meaning of "not going to be easy as they think it will be". _Did Peeta just let something slip? Is he saying that she has some kind of combat skill? Or did he just tell me which side he'll be on for the confrontation?_

Peeta continues on. "You know she volunteered to take her sister's place…" I nod. _Of course I know. All of Panem knows._ "That's what makes her special."

"Not _that_ special," I say before I can stop myself. "My older brother would have done the same thing for me."

Peeta stares at me quizzically. _Damn it. Now I have to talk about my family. _ So I explain about Intel, his promise to Matt and me, and how he turned nineteen before this year's Reaping, making him ineligible. I don't say anything about him training, though. Everyone may know about the Career districts, but it's still taboo to speak about it publicly.

"You're lucky, you know that? To have a family who cares about you so much. My older brothers wouldn't volunteer for me. You know, my own mother thinks that Katniss has a better chance than I do."

"Is that why you joined the Careers? To prove your mother wrong by killing her?"

"Oh, I don't disagree with her. Katniss is a survivor. She'll find a way."

It's completely bizarre to hear a tribute talk up another tribute like this, even if she is his district partner. "You're up to something," I accuse.

"So are you."

"What makes you think that?"

"You know what the Careers will do to us eventually. I'm sure you're not content to just wait until the supplies run out and they don't need you anymore. You're too smart for that."

_Crap. Is it that obvious?_ "If I am up to something, what are you going to do about it?"

"Me? Nothing. It's the Hunger Games. Everyone's up to something, Max. Just know that I'll be on my guard." He smiles at me. "Just because they're making us kill each other, it doesn't mean we can't be friends for now."

I force myself to smile back, even though inside I feel like ice. I might as well admit it: I don't want to kill Peeta. But somehow, I'm going to have to find the strength to do it.

* * *

Right at sunset, the Careers get ready to go hunting, arming themselves with various pointy weapons. They also have two pairs of night-vision goggles_._ _More stolen District 3 technology being put to use by others._

Before they leave, though, there's a debate about what to do with me.

"He should come with us," says Mermaid Girl, whose name is Varia, picking up a long thin sword.

"Absolutely not," replies Psycho Knife Girl. "We are having enough trouble finding anyone thanks to the noise that Lover Boy is making trampling through the woods. We're not going to drag another untrained tribute around. He would only slow us down."

"Then one of us has to stay and watch him so he doesn't steal our supplies," says Arrogant One, pointing his spear carelessly at Knife Girl. "I think it's your turn."

"That would completely defeat the purpose of having District 3 booby trap our supplies in the first place!" thunders Angry Two, who is armed with a sword of his own. "No, we'll leave him here as the guard. He won't dare touch our supplies without our permission. Would you, District 3?"

"N-n-no, C-cato" I stutter.

"You know what I will do to you if I find that even one item missing? I'll cut out your tongue turn you into an Avox. And possibly cut off other unnecessary body parts. And if you leave your post and run away, we _will_ find you, and when we do, I'll make your death more painful than anyone else in the history of the Games. Is that understood?"

My whole body is shaking as I nod. Somehow this death threat is far more terrifying than all the others. I think it has to do with the fact that I know he's completely serious and fully capable of doing exactly what he described.

"You'd better make sure he doesn't fall asleep, either," adds Doll Face, who has taken possession of a silver bow and arrows.

"Oh, let him sleep, if he dares," scoffs Knife Girl. "Our supplies are well-protected, that's all that matters to us. If a tribute or wild animal happens to find our Dear Little Friend napping all alone, they can have him."

_Well, there's no way I'm going to sleep now, is there?_

Peeta gives me a sympathetic look as the group departs, heading once again for the forest. The rest of them are in high spirits, sure that one way or another, there will be blood spilled tonight. It's been too quiet for the last day and a half.

The Careers have been gone about fifteen minutes when a silver parachute drops out of the sky next to me. _Beetee did it! I got a sponsor!_ Now, to find out what this mysterious gift is that will turn the tables in my favor... It's a tiny vial of some kind of fluid. Poison? That's not usually the kind of item that's available as a gift. I open the vial and gingerly take in the fumes. The sickly sweet smell gives it away: _sleep syrup_. It becomes blindingly obvious what I'll need to do to incapacitate the Careers long enough for me to eliminate them. "Thank you, Beetee," I say aloud, hoping the cameras are focused on me, as they usually are when gifts are given. With this one little vial, and control over the land mines, I am now a true contender in the Games.

I quickly stuff the vial into my sock as I try to settle myself down from the excitement over my gift. The parachute I throw into the fire, obliterating any evidence of my sponsorship. Now, I need to focus and think of exactly when and how to make my move. It's critical for me to bide my time as long as possible. The Careers don't see me as any kind of threat, and right now they're out there trying to thin the rest of the field out for me. My biggest obstacle – I shudder at myself for using that word to describe an innocent human being – my biggest obstacle outside of the Careers is undoubtedly Fire Girl. There's simply no way that I can imagine trying to pit my measly three against her eleven, especially when I still have no idea what special skills she showed the Gamemakers to earn that score. I'll have to wait and watch the drama play out between the Careers, Fire Girl and Lover Boy. Besides, it's still going to be a very difficult task for me to find an opportunity to slip the sleep syrup into something that all six will consume simultaneously.

Watch and wait. Find the perfect moment to strike. And get lucky. That's what I'll need to shock all of Panem and make it home.

* * *

Watching and waiting is boring. The seal of the Capitol lights up the night sky. No one died today, which is generally not a good thing for the Gamemakers. I doubt that the little soap opera playing out amongst the Careers will be enough to hold the attention of the viewers for long. I know the Careers didn't find anyone on their last hunt, so I wonder if any of the Others might have at least battled to give them some action. In my heart, however, I know that such a thing would be highly unlikely. Nope, I better hope the Careers find someone tonight or else the Gamemakers might do something drastic soon.

As I survey the plain again, my thoughts turn to Pixie. If she had survived the Bloodbath, this is the time that she would have come to me for supplies. Would I have dared defy Cato and help her? I want to think that I would. After all, despite all his posturing, I really don't think Cato knows exactly how many apples or packets of dried meat are there. It's not like they go anywhere near the supplies anymore – I'm the one who they send through the minefield to get whatever they need. Of course, it's a lot easier to think in hypotheticals when the Careers aren't around to threaten my life. Anyway, why am I even thinking about this? What does it matter? Pixie is gone. Her body may already be on a train headed back to District 3. Headed home. Away from the Capitol and from this awful place called the arena. The thought of Pixie lying stone-cold and white in a wooden box tears me up inside. It's like there's a hole in my heart that I never knew existed.

I'm distracted from my thoughts of misery by a sudden flash of light coming from deep within the forest. It's immediately followed by another, and another, all seemingly at random locations. Heart pounding, I watch as the flashes continue for several more minutes. Whatever is happening, it certainly isn't natural. The Gamemakers have decided to intervene.

It soon becomes apparent what the Gamemakers have done. The flashes gradually merge into a continuous red and orange glow that can only mean one thing: the forest is on fire. The air soon becomes thick with smoke, making it hard to breathe, even though I'm out in the open by the lake. It must be ten times worse for the ones caught in the middle of the blaze. _The tributes in the forest!_ My heart leaps at the thought. I'm safe out here by the lake. The Giant from District 11 is probably still in the field on the opposite side of the arena. But as far as I know, the other ten remaining tributes are all in danger. But what am I thinking? There's no way the Gamemakers would wipe out 83 percent of the remaining competitors on the third night of the games!

I spend the next few hours watching the flames march through the forest. It's a mesmerizing experience. I strain my ears listening for the sound of a cannon to indicate that some unlucky tribute fell victim to the Gamemakers. I find myself alternating between hoping that the fire somehow wipes out everyone in the forest, and being horrified at the thought, because being burned alive is a fate that, under normal circumstances, I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy.

From watching past Games on television, though, I know that most of the tributes in the forest will survive. The Gamemakers usually intervene only to make things more interesting by driving tributes together. Occasionally they do kill one just to satisfy the audience's thirst for blood, but they prefer the blood to be spilled by each other. And from where I sit by the lake, breathing through a wet towel, I can see exactly what is happening. There are two impossibly high walls of fire, slowly progressing through the forest from opposite sides of the arena. Eventually they will converge at a point not too far away from here. I'm almost certain that there are tributes fleeing for their lives just in front of each of the fire lines. The Gamemakers are moving them like puppets into a position where they will have to confront each other.

It's about mid-afternoon when I finally see someone stumble out of the forest. Without thinking, I call out, "Are you okay?" Then I freeze as I suddenly realize that it is not one of the Careers – it's the redheaded girl from District 5. I watch her collapse into the lake, and wait for the cannon to sound and indicate that she died, either from her burns or from drowning. As the minutes pass, however, it soon becomes clear that she's not going to die on her own.

_Great. Now what should I do?_

I pick up a short sword out of the weapons pile and carefully make my way over to the redhead. She's passed out, lying half submerged in the water. Now is my chance to take out one of the eleven remaining obstacles. All I have to do is stick this sword into her heart and it will be over. With both hands I lift the sword over my head, trying to steel myself for the ugly task. But suddenly, I am struck with a sense of déjà-vu. I flash back to the first day of the Games, when my role was reversed and District 11 had me at his mercy. I realize that the only reason that I'm in a position to end this girl's life is because District 11 let me live.

I know what the audience wants to see. Most of them, anyway. I'm pretty sure that at this very moment bets are probably coming in on both sides as to whether I'll be able to go through with it. But the majority of the Capitol will be screaming for her blood. I know what Beetee would tell me to do. _Think of the person that you hate the most in the world, and imagine that he is the person you are killing_, he'd say. I look at the girl lying at my feet and try to picture President Snow instead.

But I just can't do it. I can't do it, I can't do it I can't do it.. The death screams of the Bloodbath echo in my head. If I do this, _I_ will be the one causing that pain. _I_ will be the one torturing this girl's mother, or her father, or her sister as they watch her die on the television. I remember Vincent and the promises he tried to make to everyone: _I won't attack you if you don't attack me. _If she was attacking me, I would defend myself, but I can't kill her like this, in cold blood. I won't let the Capitol turn me into a monster. I am not and never will be a Career.

My hands are shaking so much that I almost cut myself as I lower the sword. I back away slowly and return to my spot at the camp. If the Careers find her, they can finish her off. I'll claim that I didn't notice her. It's not like they have very high expectations of me. And it can be just one more death for me to avenge when I finally take them out.


	13. Chapter 13

_One chapter left after this one. As always, thanks again to everyone who commented!_

_Usual disclaimers: I own nothing. Suzanne Collins owns _The Hunger Games_, JK Rowling owns the title, **Caisha702** and **be-nice-to-nerds **__invented this particular universe and are my inspiration. This chapter incorporates events and dialogue from Chapters 12-13 of "Love is a Battlefield" and Chapter 9 of "A Fox's View" by Caisha, as well as Chapter 10 of "Cripple" by BNTN. If you haven't read these stories yet, I highly recommend them!_

* * *

Chapter 13

I don't know how long I sit there, staring at the mop of red hair down by the lake. What I did certainly wasn't unprecedented; this is already at least the second time that one tribute has spared another in these Games. I've seen it happen in past years, too. More often than not, though, an act of mercy has a way of coming back and biting the tribute in the end. It certainly doesn't help win the favor of the bloodthirsty Gamemakers. Knowing this, I almost change my mind half a dozen times, but I don't think I ever come as close to actually doing it as I did the first time, when I was actually standing over the Redhead with a weapon in hand.

Sometime in the late afternoon, the fires in the forest go out, as abruptly as turning off a stove. The point in the forest where the two fire lines converged is less than a mile away from me. I guess that most of the remaining tributes must now be close enough to each other to satisfy the Gamemakers. There will be a confrontation soon, and then the cannons will begin to sound.

But they don't. Afternoon slowly turns into evening without anything happening, as far as I can tell. No cannons fire. No sounds or movement come from the forest. Everything is as still and silent as a photograph.

The Careers do not return.

The anthem plays, and the sky confirms that there were no deaths today. Maybe I was wrong about the Gamemakers forcing the tributes into a confrontation. Unless the suspense of my decision about what to do with the Redhead was enough drama? I doubt it. Maybe the ten tributes running for their lives gave a good enough show to satisfy the audience. But if that's the case, then why haven't the Careers returned to camp in order to rest? I'm perplexed at this turn of events.

How I wish I could be back at home, watching this on television! Not that I would be enjoying the suffering of my fellow tributes, but at least I would know exactly what was happening. This lack of knowledge is maddening. I rack my tired brain, trying to consider the possibilities. Maybe the Careers are injured, even dying. Or at least, one of them is, and the others are staying with him or her. Maybe they've discovered a victim who is putting up a fight. Or they're trying to chase her down. Or they have her trapped somewhere but can't get to her. Or she has _them _trapped somehow. The possibilities are endless.

Exhaustion sets in. Aside from nodding off for a few minutes here and there, I haven't slept in over twenty-four hours. But those in the forest must be even more tired than I am, having had to run for their lives all day. The only one who might have had a restful day is the Giant in the field, but he wouldn't attack the Career camp; that's not his style. _Yes, no one should attack. I should be safe_. Because there's no way I'm going to be able to stay awake tonight. I grab a sleeping bag and drag it over to the shelter of the Cornucopia, hopefully making myself a little less noticeable, in case of the extremely unlikely possibility that someone decides to raid the Careers' camp. If they don't see me, they'll probably go straight for the supplies. The sound of a land mine exploding should wake me up.

With that blissfully violent thought, I drift off to sleep.

* * *

It seems like I have barely closed my eyes when I am awaked by a commotion coming from the direction of the woods. I look around wildly and realize that it is already morning. _What the Snow is going on? _It doesn't sound like a fight is in progress, but I can hear the pounding footsteps of a crowd of people hurtling toward my location.

I quickly grab the spear that I had taken from the weapons pile last night and take a glance at the lake. There's no sign of the Redhead – no wait, I catch a glimpse of her vivid hair disappearing into the woods_. _Lucky girl. I can hear the panicked voices of the Careers fast approaching. "To the lake! To the lake!" comes the hysterical voice of Knife Girl. My heart races in anticipation. What new terror have the Gamemakers unleashed that has even the Careers scared out of their minds?

It's not long before I find out. Cato, Clove, Peeta and Arrogant One come barreling out of the forest at full speed, pursued by a cloud of gold-plated insects that I have only ever seen before in a textbook. _Tracker-jackers!_ They dive into the lake, breaking the trail between them and the hornets, which buzz around aimlessly for a moment before locking on to the only human in the vicinity that is not currently immersed in water – me! _Crap._ I sprint as fast as I can toward the water, but I get stung once, twice before I make it to the lake. The pain is immediate and rises until it surpasses anything that I have ever felt before.

It doesn't take long for the venom to work its way into my bloodstream, as the world warps and changes into strange colors like a malfunctioning television screen. The sun, which has just now risen over the tops of the trees, is an alarming shade of green. The water of the lake turns blood red and is boiling with hundreds of snakes, wrapping around my limbs and biting into my skin. The last thing that I am aware of is two monstrous multi-limbed creatures rising from the lake and heading in the direction of the forest. Somewhere deep in my brain I have the vague idea that those monsters are named Cato and Peeta, but my ability to form coherent thoughts deserts me at that very moment and a savage darkness overwhelms me.

* * *

They say tracker-jacker venom targets your darkest thoughts and makes you relive your worst memories. Theoretically, this would mean a person who has suffered more horrors in their past would be affected more strongly. Going through what I am now, though, I find that hard to believe. I have experienced my share of horrors and threats ever since Verity Phillips pulled my name out of the bowl at the Reaping. But the majority of the nightmares that I now experience have little to do with the arena. It's my family – the father, mother, and brothers that I love so much – that I watch suffer and die. Over and over again. My father, ripped apart by machines. My mother, taken by Peacekeepers who do unspeakable things to her before allowing her to die. Intel and Matt, tortured by the Capitol and forced to fight to the death in the same Hunger Games. I am powerless to intervene, held tight in Cato's iron grasp while Clove cuts me to pieces with her knives. And then Pixie and Vincent are there, joining in the action and laughing at my suffering.

The nightmares continue for what seems like an eternity. Every time I think the effects of the venom are starting to wear off, I wake into a new horror. But eventually, after some indefinite period of time, the hallucinations stop, leaving only a painful darkness.

The pain has mostly faded away when I experience a new series of blows on my side. My first thought is that another round of nightmares are beginning, but something about the blows feels different, more real. My eyes fly open. I'm lying facedown on the beach by the lake. A very angry Cato is standing over me, looking every bit the embodiment of the nickname that I had given him. He lifts his leg to kick me again.

I lift my hand quickly to show that I am awake. The movement sends a shock of pain through my body, making me aware of the stiffness and soreness of every single one of my muscles. _How many days have passed? Two? Three? More?_

Angry Two beckons toward the supplies. "We need some food. You constructed the trap so you can walk through it," he snarls.

"Right now? Can't I have a drink first?"

"I said now. Anyway, you assured me that there would be no problems in getting to the supplies. Are you saying that you lied to me?"

"Of c-c-course not! But I need time to think about it." _And time to retrieve my remote control_.

"You don't have time." Cato picks up the spear that I had dropped in my dash to the lake and pokes me with it. "Go!"

_Crap. This is not good._ There are several paths safely through the minefield, and in fact I have been taking the most complicated one just to make it look like I am the only one who can get to the supplies. And also because I didn't want to step on the land mines, even after I deactivated them with my remote control. But the remote is where I left it over by the Cornucopia, and there's no way I can go get it now without making it obvious that I have the ability to switch the mines on and off. So I take a deep breath and visualize exactly where the mines are placed, and gingerly step through the minefield.

It's nerve-wracking, knowing that the mines are live and that one misstep will certainly end my life, but somehow I manage to make back safely with a load of food. As soon as I have given it to Cato I scurry away to a safer distance.

It's only then that I notice how empty the camp is. I look around carefully, but besides Cato and me, only Arrogant One and Knife Girl remain. Both are still unconscious. "W-where are the others?" I ask.

"Glimmer and Varia are dead," replies Cato bitterly. "I don't know about Lover Boy. If he isn't dead already he will be soon." He trails off into a series of obscenities that I would rather not repeat. Almost all of them are directed at District 12. I gather that the Girl on Fire had something to do with the tracker-jacker attack, but I'm afraid to ask any more questions.

Instead, I ponder the deaths of the two Careers, Doll Face and Mermaid Girl. I'm surprised to realize that I feel a sense of grief over their loss, despite the fact that I have been plotting to kill them myself. _What is happening to me? These are the hated Careers!_ Except, Varia was the one who gave me a chance at the beginning, sparing my life and listening to my proposal. And Doll Face – Glimmer – was the only one of the Careers who was actually civil to me most of the time.

Somewhere from the depths of my mind, I hear an echo of Beetee's voice: _You must keep yourself from becoming emotionally connected to the others. If you start thinking about them as people, you will not be able to do what needs to be done to survive._ But Beetee, they _are_ people! Each one of them – of us – is a child with our own fears and aspirations, with our own story to tell. And each one of us is just fighting as hard as we can to extend that story beyond the arena.

Well, at least the others are. I haven't done a single thing since setting up the mines. I even let the Redhead live when I had the opportunity to take her out of the Games. I try to look at myself through the eyes of the Capitol audience. I'm small, weak, and entirely too merciful for my own good. The sponsor who gave me the sleep syrup must be screaming at Beetee right now. I realize that I'm at a crossroads in these Games. If I don't find a way to become a killer, I will not last much longer. I guess I could take some small consolation in dying with honor, but I don't want to die at all. By giving up, I'd be letting everyone from District 3 down. Beetee, who worked so hard to give me this plan. Haier, who I promised that I would try my hardest. And my family – Dad, Mom, Intel and Matt – _oh Matt! I miss you so much. What would you tell me to do?_ There's only one way that I can find out, and that's by making it home to him. Somehow I have to find the strength and resolve to continue with my plan. I look at the three remaining Careers. If anyone deserves to die, it's the three of them. I can do this. I have to. _I'll make my move soon, Beetee, I promise._

Arrogant One and Knife Girl wake up a little while later. From the conversation between the three Careers, I gradually learn what had happened in the forest leading up to the tracker-jackers. After the fire, the Careers had found the Girl on Fire, but she had escaped by climbing up a tree. Apparently it was a very near miss, and from the insults aimed at him, Arrogant One was somehow responsible for letting her get away. None of pack could climb high enough to get to her, so they had camped at the base of the tree overnight. The next morning, she managed to drop a tracker-jacker nest on them somehow. After shaking off the tracker-jackers in the lake, Cato went back into the forest to the site of the attack. He found Fire Girl stealing Glimmer's bow and arrows from her body, but Peeta turned on him and allowed his district partner to escape. Cato wounded him pretty badly, though, so in all likelihood he may already be dead.

I try to process all this new information. Fire Girl now has a bow and arrows. It's strange that she would take such a huge risk to get that weapon, though. I know I wasn't keeping tabs on District 12 every moment during training, but still, I can't recall the pair ever being at the archery station. _Unless she already knew how to use it?_ No, that's ridiculous. How would anyone from District 12 ever get the chance to learn how to use a bow an arrow? Not a very useful skill for the coal mines. No, she probably just wanted it because it's such a valuable weapon. She's going to learn quickly that using it is not nearly as easy as it looks. Still, a part of me wants to admire her for her resourcefulness. Climbing trees and dropping tracker-jacker nests on the Careers. She's certainly proving to be worthy of her training score. But another part of me – the part still hurting from the giant lumps left by the tracker-jacker stings – hates her for what she did.

I assess my current situation. Beetee and I had discussed some contingency plans in case I had to break the alliance with Fire Girl still alive, but none of them involved her possessing the best weapon in the Games, as well as some climbing superpower. Well, maybe the second-best weapon. I have the land mines. But still… _Damn it. _The Careers were _so_ close to getting her, to taking her out of the picture for me. And then that virus Peeta – Lover Boy – ruined everything.

Now what am I going to do? If I blow up the Careers now, I'll have to deal with Fire Girl (and whoever else is still out there) on my own. Somehow I can't imagine her walking into any of my traps when she's camping out up in a tree like a sniper with her bow and arrows. On the other hand, if I wait, the Careers may still fail me. She's already defeated all six – well, five – of them at once. Now there are only three left. And this alliance may break down at any moment.

It's an impossible decision for me to make. Neither option seems to give me a good chance of survival. I wonder what Beetee would tell me to do. But there is no way for him to communicate with me any more. I have to make this choice on my own.

In the end, I decide to wait at least another day. As angry as Cato is, I have to give him one more shot at Fire Girl. I am almost certain that if he finds her again, one of them will not live through the confrontation.

The three Careers leave on a hunt in the late afternoon, but they return almost as soon as the anthem stops playing. No deaths today. I wonder how many nights we missed. Definitely at least one, because otherwise they would have shown Varia's and Glimmer's faces in the sky. So this means I have really no idea how many Others are still alive. We were at twelve before I joined the Careers, so there can't be more than ten of us left now. _Wow. I'm in the top ten._ I suppose I should be excited about this, but the increasing weight of my situation drains the joy out of me. There could still be up to six Others out there.

Some time after the Careers return, Arrogant One shifts over to the side of the fire where I am. I eye him warily, although I have long stopped being afraid of him. Not that he couldn't kill me easily, but despite all his bravado, he's way too intimidated by the pair from District 2 to do anything without their permission. Cato and Clove – who by the way seem way too close to be just allies – sit on the opposite site of the fire. They're having a whispered conversation, so Arrogant One, who has the ridiculously pompous name of Marvel, takes the opportunity to talk with me quietly. Well, _to_ me, at least. I don't exactly say anything in return.

"Yo. District 6."

_It's District 3, moron._

"That was pretty smart what you did with the mines."

_So you're complimenting me now?_

"You know, this alliance won't last much longer. I think you're smart enough to know that those two are going to stick together."

_It doesn't take much brains to figure that out. Even you did._

"Do the math. Two on one, I won't stand a chance. And then they'll turn on you."

_Oh, so you're trying to get me to side with you? Maybe you shouldn't have been so mean to me in that elevator._

"But if we team up, we'll even out the numbers. Two on two, we can win."

_Actually, no we can't. You probably just want me to be a distraction so you can run away. And even if we somehow win, you'd just kill me yourself._

"What do you say?"

I shrug.

"I'll take that as a 'maybe.'" He looks up and sees the pair from District 2 looking quite cozy lying on the same sleeping bag and raises his voice. "You could let me borrow her sometime, District 2. It gets cold at night in this arena."

"I'll send her over to you if you like, but only thing you'll get is a knife through your heart" is the retort from Cato.

_Oh yes. Things are getting bad. _I can't wait any longer. The next chance I get, I'll have to make my move. Whether District 12 is alive or dead.


	14. Chapter 14

_So here we are, folks, at the bitter end. Believe me when I say I am extremely depressed about this. One more time, thanks to everyone who read, commented, and contributed._

_Disclaimers: I don't own this. Suzanne Collins owns the Hunger Games. JK Rowling owns the title. **Caisha702 **and **be-nice-to-nerds** are my inspiration. If you like my story, READ "A Fox's View", "Love is a Battlefield", and "Cripple". You will not be disappointed._

* * *

Chapter 14

Much sooner than expected, an opportunity to turn the tables on the Careers seems to present itself. I wake up abruptly in middle of the night, or perhaps early in the morning. The fire has gone cold, but the sky is still dark. I look over at the Careers and my heart leaps as I realize that Arrogant One has fallen asleep on his watch. Cato and Clove are lying motionless, cuddled against each other in the same sleeping bag. _This is my chance!_ I could do it. I could do it right now. I won't even need the sleep syrup. All I have to do is dig up a couple of the mines from the edge of the minefield and slip them under the sleeping Careers before I reactivate them. I make my decision. Quietly I begin to creep over toward the supplies.

I've only taken a few steps away from the fire when everything falls apart. "Are you going somewhere, District 3?" The voice of Psycho Knife Girl suddenly cuts through the darkness. My heart pounds violently as I slowly turn and see that she's sitting up, completely awake, in stark contrast to Arrogant One who is still fast asleep. _Oh. Crap._ "I… uh…"

"Do you really think I'd trust an imbecile like District 1 to watch over me? I thought you were supposed to be intelligent."

Now her district partner is awake, too. "Were you thinking of leaving us, District 3? That would be a shame. For you anyway."

Clove moves over and stands behind me, putting me directly between Cato and herself and cutting off any hope of escape. Terror rushes through me as I realize the peril that I am in. What is she going to do now? Kill me? Torture me?

She smiles manically at her district partner. "Why don't you go hunting? Take him with you," she says, pointing toward Arrogant One. "I won't be too devastated if you don't bring him back."

Is this their strategy? Divide and kill? But it makes no sense. Marvel is still fast asleep. If they wanted us both dead Cato could cut his throat right now, and then the two of them could have all the fun they wanted with me.

As if to prove my point, Cato drags Arrogant One to his feet and holds a knife to his throat. "Sleeping on watch, District 1? You should be dead already," he sneers as the boy wakes up. "We're going hunting." It's a command, not a statement, and like a whipped dog, Arrogant One starts to obey without a word. Halfway to the forest, though, he realizes that Clove is not following. "Why is she staying here?"

"While you were keeping watch as diligently as you always do, District 3 decided to test the boundaries. Clove is merely staying to remind him exactly where he stands."

Where I stand right now is about twenty feet from the minefield. I tense my feet, ready to make a run for it if Clove shows a clear intent to kill me. Not that I'd have much of a chance of escaping her deadly knife throws, but it's better than standing here and letting her end my life without a struggle. My fingers grip the remote control inside my pocket that represents my only chance. Maybe Clove will hesitate when she sees me running directly through the minefield without getting blown up. Maybe she'll think that I lied and the mines never worked. And if she then tries to follow me through, I can reactivate the minefield and take her out.

I watch as the two boys head into the forest. Vaguely I wonder what will happen between them. Cato is undoubtedly the better fighter, but this is probably the best chance that Marvel will ever get to fight him on an level field. Will there be a battle? If there is, though, I may not live long enough to find out who wins. My attention returns to much more pressing matters, namely what Clove is planning to do to me.

After the other two have vanished into the forest, Clove slowly walks toward me, drawing a sword and pointing it at me. I back away at the same pace, still unsure of her intention. After all, the Careers still need me to retrieve the supplies, unless they're willing to brave the minefield themselves. But Clove might just be psycho enough to do it.

When I reach the edge of the minefield, I stop, allowing Clove to close the distance between us. _Should I run? Should I plead? _My options aren't very good. So instead, I wait for Knife Girl to make the first move.

Clove tosses me a backpack while switching to a knife in one motion. "Go on then," she says, cutting through the collar of my shirt with such precision that it leaves just the slightest scratch on my skin underneath.

"Y-yes, C-c-clove. I'm going." Heart pounding, I breathe a huge sigh of relief as I navigate my complicated path through the now-deactivated mines. _That_ _was close. Way too close._ I'm actually fortunate that she had caught me so soon. They probably think I was merely planning to run away. If she had seen me with a land mine in my hands, I'm certain that I'd be dying a horrific death right about now.

As I fill the backpack with food, I realize with shock that our supplies are depleting far quicker than I thought they would. I didn't notice last time because I was so worried about the land mines, but it's almost as though some of the supplies have evaporated into thin air. I shake my head to clear it. I must be imagining things.

I have barely delivered the now-full backpack to Clove when a cannon sounds. _Is it one of the Career boys? Did they fight? Or did they just find some unlucky Other in the forest? Could it possibly be Fire Girl?_

Unfortunately, I don't have time to consider all the possibilities, because at that moment, Clove smashes me on the forehead and I black out.

* * *

I'm awakened some time later by the splash of cold water being poured on my head. For the second time in as many days, I look up to see the face of Cato sneering down at me. He seems to be in a much better mood this time, though, as he drags me to my feet. I look around and see that Arrogant One is also still alive. So that cannon must have been for one of the Others. _But who?_

Cato sends me back through the minefield for more supplies, including some burn ointment which he uses to treat Clove. Then they make me get yet another load of supplies. I'm beginning to think that they intend to clear out the stock soon, so that they'll no longer need to have me around.

The Careers have a strategy discussion, and it quickly becomes clear that the tribute they killed this morning was _not_ the Girl on Fire or Lover Boy. Eventually, I learn that it was the boy from District 10. The Gimp. I'd forgotten all about him. It's pretty amazing that he actually survived for so long with his disability. But he's still dead. That leaves nine of us, at most. At eight, they interview our friends and families. So that might even be happening right now. I try to imagine how proud my parents and my brothers must be that I have made it this far. But I can't picture them being happy or excited. They'll be far more focused on the daunting number of tributes that still have to die in order for me to win.

I grit my teeth. I was so close to disaster this morning. It was such a stupid mistake to assume that District 2 was asleep. I have to be way more careful tonight. And it has to be tonight, because I can't afford to wait any longer. Tonight I have to find a way to slip the sleep potion into a drink, and wipe out the three remaining Careers. I'll take my chances with Fire Girl and the Others remaining in the arena.

* * *

Sometime in the afternoon, though, something happens that alters my plans yet again.

We're sitting in what is starting to become our usual triangle around the remains of the campfire: Cato and Clove practically inside each other's clothes; Marvel on the opposite side of the fire, watching them warily; and me trying to keep as much distance as possible from everyone else. The Careers are eating for what seems like the hundredth time today. Either they're trying to gather some energy for another hunt, or they just don't have anything better to do. As for me, I've taken to absentmindedly playing with my remote control. The others still have no idea that what I hold is actually functional. I guess it makes me feel somewhat better to know there is one little aspect of the arena that I am in control of. _Click_. The mines are deactivated. _Click_. The mines are live. _Click_. If the Careers were unconscious I would be placing the mines under their sleeping bodies. _Click_. The mines would be exploding and blowing them to bits.

"Look!" shouts Cato, interrupting my homicidal daydreams. He points to the forest where an obvious plume of smoke is rising a couple of miles away. Someone has started a campfire.

To say that the smoke is suspicious would be an understatement. I learned a little bit about building fires during training. There are certain kinds of wood that give off more smoke than others, and this person seems to have chosen the exact wrong kind. If that tribute was really out there trying to cook some food, he or she would be the biggest idiot left in the Games. And idiots like the girl from District 8 were weeded out early on. So the most logical explanation is that it's a trap of some sort. Is it of Gamemaker origin? Unlikely. Only the Careers would go anywhere near the smoke. It's probably the Girl on Fire. She's probably hidden near the fire, lying in wait for the Careers so she can try to pick them off with her bow and arrows.

The Careers have the same suspicions as I do, but there's a debate about whether or not to go anyway.

Cato is convinced that it must be Fire Girl. "I will not allow her defy me again."

"If it's District 12, then it must be a trap," objects Marvel.

"If we go in knowing that it is a trap, we can turn the tables on her," Clove points out. "We still outnumber her, three to one. And this time she won't catch us off-guard. No more dropping tracker-jacker nests on us."

I say nothing, but my heart leaps at the thought. This might be the moment that I have been waiting for ever since I joined the Careers. If it _is_ Fire Girl, and Cato kills her, the Careers will be in high spirits tonight. Maybe even high enough to get careless. Then the biggest threat left will be the Giant from District 11.

Cato considers the options for a moment before making a decision. "Alright. Let's investigate the fire. Grab your weapons."

Arrogant One starts to shove me toward the supplies, but Cato has other ideas. "No. This time we're _all _going."

_What? Me, go hunting in the forest with the Careers? I've never even stepped foot in there!_ I stare at Cato in shock.

Marvel is as surprised as I am. "But your girlfriend said that he would only slow us down."

Clove gets right into his face. "If there was actually a brain inside that massively inflated head of yours, you would realize that back then there were six of us. Now there are only three."

"He's coming," says Cato in a tone of voice that clearly indicates that the debate is over. "We need him in the woods, and his job's done here anyway. No one can touch those supplies."

"What about Lover Boy?"

"I keep telling you, forget about him. I know where I cut him. It's a miracle he hasn't bled to death yet. At any rate, he's in no shape to raid us."

_This is bad. This is very bad._ How could they possibly need me? What help could I provide? Hunting Others in the forest with the Careers was never part of the plan.

"Come on." Cato picks up the largest spear and pushes it into my hands. At my size and strength, there's no way I can use this ridiculous weapon, and he knows it. I bet he just wants me to be a possible target in case the fire is a trap. As we start off into the forest, he says roughly, "When we find her, I kill her in my own way, and no one interferes."

Even though I want – no, need – the Careers to eliminate District 12 soon, I can't help but feel a little disgusted at the thought of Cato making her suffer as much as possible before finally killing her. I can't possibly fathom how anyone, even someone who has trained for the Games his entire life, can be sadistic enough to enjoy making others suffer. I will kill when the time comes, because that is the only way to win, but I would never intentionally inflict more pain than necessary.

It's frightening, walking through the forest, a section of the arena that until today I have never entered. I realize just how much I have been relying on being out in the open with the threat of the Careers to protect me. Here in the forest, there are so many places for someone to hide, so many good places to set up an ambush. My nervousness increases with every step, and I soon become convinced that every shadow in the trees is the Girl on Fire, lurking in wait with her bow and arrows. Even the Careers proceed more cautiously as we approach the clearing where the fire is burning.

It's completely deserted. Not only is there no one around, there is no indication that the fire was even being used for anything. No sign that meat had been cooking on it, nor that someone had left in a hurry. It's almost as though someone had just started the fire and left.

"There," says Arrogant One in a low voice, pointing above the trees to where a second plume of smoke is now rising. By now, everyone is convinced that it's a trap. Still, there's no option but to try to close in on the one setting the fires. As we walk, the Careers go over the list of remaining tributes. Fire Girl and Lover Boy. The Giant and the tiny girl from District 11. And the Redhead from District 5. I'm almost certain that the Giant has made his home in the field, so that only leaves four candidates. I begin to wonder if perhaps some of them have formed their own alliance.

I consider the possibilities. If Lover Boy is alive – and I am not nearly as convinced as Cato is about this fact – and he's managed to reunite with Fire Girl, they'll definitely be allied. But from Cato's description it doesn't sound like he'd be in any shape to be setting these fires. The Redhead didn't show any inclination to ally with anyone, and I know for sure she wasn't with Fire Girl before the tracker-jackers. That leaves Tiny from District 11. I remember Pixie's observation that that she was tagging along with District 12 during the training. Could she have allied up with them as well? I try to picture her next to Fire Girl. Suddenly, the image of another girl jumps into my head. The little blond girl that was reaped in District 12. Fire Girl's little sister. Despite the differences in skin and hair color, it strikes me how alike they are. Fire Girl must have noticed, too. _They're allied. They have to be._ It's the only pairing that makes any sense.

Now it makes sense that Cato wanted me with the hunting pack. Fire Girl might be allied with both Lover Boy and Tiny. Three on three, with Fire Girl's pack choosing the location and terms of the confrontation, it would be highly dangerous for the Careers. No wonder why he wants me here even if all I can do is be a distraction.

I turn my attention back to the mystery of the smoke. One of them must be setting the fires and the others are… doing what? Fire Girl wasn't lying in wait to ambush us, so where could she be? I start getting a very bad feeling. The most logical place for one of them to be is back at our camp. Because the one thing that the person out here setting the fires has done is lure us away from…

At that moment, a series of explosions rocks the entire arena. Adrenaline rushes through my body. _She just stepped on one of my land mines!_ For an instant, I'm excited that maybe my trap worked. But then the explosions continue, one after another after another. My heart drops through my stomach. _That was way too much to be just one._ Something catastrophic just happened back at our camp.

"The supplies," whispers Clove, and then we're all running as fast as we can back toward the lake. I drop the spear as I run because it's slowing me down, and it's useless to me anyways. I need to know how bad it is, whether any part of my plan can still be salvaged.

When I emerge from the edge of the woods, my worst fears are confirmed. The entire stack of supplies is gone. And with them went every single one of my precious mines, my only chance at taking out the Careers. Marvel says something about making sure all the mines are deactivated, so I throw some rocks in, but my mind is numb as I declare the ruins "safe". It's all over. Everything that I had been working toward is gone. My plan has failed. _No, no, no, no, no!_

How could this have happened? I know I positioned them all far enough apart so they would never cause a chain reaction if someone tried to steal something. My mind goes over the configuration of the supplies. Was there anything that was unbalanced and unstable so it might have fallen over? I don't think so, and even that should only have set off one section of the mines, unless there were multiple objects that rolled out. I think about whether the netting might have collapsed or… _the apples. The bag of apples that the idiot Marvel had hung up right under the netting in the middle of the minefield. The bag must have fallen open somehow. But how?_

It hits me in a flash. District 12. The Girl on Fire. Who risked her life to take Glimmer's bow and arrows after killing her. Who must have earned her training score of eleven because she demonstrated remarkable skill at archery. The one that I most needed the Careers to kill. The one that even the best-laid plans couldn't account for. Somehow, she did this, and in doing so, she has destroyed me.

My thoughts are interrupted as I realize Cato is yelling at me. He's furious, more angry than I've ever seen him. He thinks I messed up and put the mines too close together. I start to try to explain that it wasn't my fault, but as he gets closer to me I suddenly realize that it doesn't matter; I've outlived my usefulness.

For the first time since I launched this gambit, I am completely terrified. I have been surrounded by fear ever since the moment I stepped into the arena, but this is on a level beyond anything that I have ever experienced. As long as I still had Beetee's plan, there was something that I could hold on to, something that kept me grounded and my fears at bay. But now I have nothing left. Nothing but the certainty that, whether right now or at some point in the near future, I am going to die. _I'm going to die, I'm going to die, I don't want to die. _

That terror keeps me rooted to one spot for a second too long, and by the time my feet decide that I need to get the hell out of there, it's too late. I feel the weight of Cato's body as he tackles me from behind. I barely register the painful pressure of his arms encircling my neck before he twists my head sharply and everything goes black.

_I'm sorry, Matt. I tried. At least I did something unforgettable._

* * *

**_A/N:_**_ Once again, thank you to everyone. This has been an amazing process. Considering that Max's death scene was one of the very first things I wrote, I never thought that it would hurt me so much to finally kill him. But this story, as published, is meant to be canon, so I had no choice. _

_I have received a number of requests for an epilogue or a one-shot from Beetee's POV, set during the QQ, where he of course would discover Max's message. For this reason, I am not going to mark the story as 'complete' yet. I'm still deciding whether write the Beetee-POV (most likely I will), and even if I do, I'm not sure whether to attach it to this story as an epilogue or make it a stand-alone one-shot. But either way, it will probably take a while, since it's taken me over two months to edit and publish 14 chapters of a story that was already drafted when the first chapter went live. _

_I'm also toying with the idea of writing an alternate ending for this story that diverges to AU from about chapter 12. This way I could have Max possibly win, although I think the story will be as dark if not darker. Would you guys be interested in reading something like that? Let me know!_

_Beyond that, who knows? I originally wrote this story because I wanted to read a full-length story about "Landmine Boy", and I couldn't find one beyond a few one-shots, and I really felt like his story needed to be told. If something else gives me such a strong inspiration, then maybe I'll do this again! _

_Finally, I know I've said it over and over, but thank you so much to **Caisha702 **and **be-nice-to-nerds**. They not only inspired me with their stories, but when I first approached them as a complete stranger and shared my idea, they were tremendously supportive and encouraging. They not only allowed me to use some of the characterizations and dialogue from their stories, but have been there constantly to help give me advice about developing my story and character. Caisha, I've said it before but I'll say it again, if Suzanne Collins ever says anything to contradict your version of the universe, I'd choose yours over the "official" one any day. And BNTN, I thoroughly enjoyed our discussions over the details our favorite District, even if my version is slightly different from yours. Last but certainly not least, allow me to quote MainstayPro from YouTube when I say "Thank you, Suzanne Collins, for writing one of the greatest books of all time."_


	15. Epilogue

_Hi everyone! I know it's been a ridiculously long time, and i hope you haven't all forgotten about poor Ian Nelson... I mean Max. This epilogue is from Beetee's POV. It's a little bit different - I think of Beetee as a very intellectual man, and his thoughts reflect as such. I know many of you liked my portrayal of Beetee in as seen through Max's eyes, so I hope I don't disappoint._

_For the last time, I don't own any of this. Suzanne Collins owns _The Hunger Games_ and all of its characters. This story was inspired by and set in the universe established by the wonderful and talented **Caisha702** and **be-nice-to-nerds**_. _If you haven't had a chance to read their stories, you really should check them out. I borrowed the title of this story from a chapter in _Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows_ by JK Rowling. I'll add one more set of credits in the A/N at the end, but first, the epilogue..._

* * *

**Epilogue**

Time is a mysterious and complex thing. On the surface, it is a subject with which everyone is familiar. Five minutes. Six hours. Two weeks. One year. When one communicates using these terms, he is easily understood. Yet it is impossible to explain how one's perception of time changes based on the type of activity in which he is involved. Scientifically, each millisecond is equal to the next, yet time always seems to pass faster when one is engaged in an enjoyable activity.

There is an ancient saying that many still believe which states that time heals all wounds. Yet it is quite clearly false. Chaff's hand will never grow back, no many how many years he waits. The psychological damage suffered by those who have experienced the horror of the Games will never be entirely healed, either.

It is also said that time is the fourth dimension. In a way, this is true. Yet it is quite unlike the physical dimensions of length, width and height. One can occupy a location on the three-dimensional coordinate plane, then one can move and occupy a different location, and then one can return to the original location, if he so desires. But one occupies all locations in time, from the beginning to the end of his existence, one after another after another. We cannot return to a previous moment, nor can we skip ahead. Theoretical physics states that time travel is possible, yet there is no evidence that humanity has ever or will ever achieve it.

Seventy-five years ago, the Dark Days ended with the Capitol crushing the District Rebellion. Of the thirteen districts, only one earned independence, and that independence came with the price of secrecy and isolation. The others were all led to believe that it was completely annihilated. Seventy-five years ago, the Treaty of Treason was signed and the Hunger Games were instituted.

Thirty-four years ago, a young boy by the name of Beetee – that is to say, myself – was selected from District 3 and managed to survive and win, with the help of a cattle prod, some wire, and knowledge of physics and electricity. In the years since, I have mentored or helped mentor sixty-eight boys and girls from my district as they were selected for the Hunger Games. Sixty-six of them perished.

But it is the most recent of the sixty-six, a boy by the name of Maxell, who stands out in my mind tonight. One year ago, he came here to the Capitol, a terrified child like all of the others, without any hope of success. But then he came up with an idea that far surpassed any of my own in its brilliance. His idea – to reactivate the land mines – gave him a real chance to compete, and I did everything I could to help him achieve his plan.

Three-hundred fifty-seven days ago, he convinced the Careers to let him reactivate the mines, and had all of Panem buzzing about his ingenuity. Everything was going according to plan.

Three-hundred fifty-five days ago, Maxell had the opportunity to kill a helpless tribute and he refused to take advantage of it. He won the respect of the districts, but lost the interest of the Capitol. And it would prove to be a disastrous choice for him.

Because three-hundred fifty-one days ago, the girl whose life Maxell spared danced through the minefield while Katniss Everdeen watched, giving her the information she needed to deduce that the supplies were mined. Then the girl from District 12 used her remarkable skill at archery to destroy the supplies and the minefield, ruining Maxell's plan. Three-hundred fifty-one days ago, the Career from District 2 ended Maxell's life because the minefield idea had backfired.

But the story does not end there. Three-hundred forty-one days ago. Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark were stunningly announced co-winners of the Seventy Fourth Hunger Games, winning in a way that defied the Capitol and set off waves of hope and unrest in the districts. Maxell Dyson was forgotten as Katniss Everdeen became the name whispered and shouted as the rallying cry of the growing rebellion.

But not in District 3. In District 3, people remembered that Maxell made the first act of insubordination, using the Capitol's own weapons to his advantage. People began to whisper, "If Max could do it, why can't we?"

Such defiance does not go unnoticed by President Snow. One-hundred fifty-nine days ago, less than a week after Katniss and Peeta made their Victory Tour visit to District 3, less than a week after Maxell's parents and brothers were filmed weeping over his failure, there was an explosion at his family's home and repair shop. Maxell's mother, dead. Maxell's father, seriously injured. Their home and their livelihood, completely destroyed. His brothers were spared. Mattel was safely at school – he had three more years of Hunger Games eligibility left, after all. Intel, who I had come to regard as a friend, was at my home. The official explanation was that there was a gas leak. Unofficially, however, the message could not be misinterpreted: no act of insubordination, no matter how small, goes unpunished.

The act was meant to squelch any thought of rebellion, but it had the opposite effect. Unrest increased and increased until one-hundred twenty-two days ago, when District 3 had its first uprising since the Dark Days. Factories were bombed. Products were sabotaged. Computers were hacked and viruses spread. Instigators were executed if caught, but there were so many different attacks from so many different sources that the Peacekeepers couldn't maintain control of the district.

Ninety days ago, the Capitol tried another tactic to crush the hope of the districts. Ninety days ago, the Quarter Quell was announced, sentencing twenty-four Hunger Games Victors to a return to the arena. The motivation was simple: Katniss Everdeen, the lone female Victor of District 12, the rebellion's "Mockingjay", would be sent back to the arena, and she would die. Sentencing twenty-two other former Victors such as Wiress and myself to the same fate was merely an unfortunate side effect. (Or perhaps not so unfortunate, since many of us have been quietly resisting President Snow, in our own little ways.)

I am usually one to look at the big picture, but I wasn't too pleased with Miss Everdeen when the Quell was announced. Still, the event was the final straw for the Resistance, which decided that the time had finally come to move from secret planning to open rebellion. Seventy-six days ago, we were informed that District 13 had agreed to help evacuate the Mockingjay from the arena, along with any other tributes sympathetic to the rebellion. I am not privy to all the details of the plan, but I know that it centers around using the special wire that I invented in order to bring down the force field surrounding the arena. Until that moment, however, those of us who will return to the arena have pledged to do everything we can to protect the "Star-Crossed Lovers" of District 12, even at the expense of our own lives if necessary.

I must admit, I am not completely sold on this plan. There are far too many variables, far too many scenarios that result in Miss Everdeen's death, and with it, the aborting of District 13's rescue attempt. If the Mockingjay dies, all bets are off, and the Quarter Quell will proceed like any other Hunger Games, with one tribute being crowned Victor.

With that in mind, what I _should_ be doing is preparing all my strategies for eliminating the other tributes, many of whom have become my friends over the years. Using my thirty-four years of experience to plan the traps that will kill Cashmere and Enobaria, Brutus and Mags, Priscilla and Johanna, Woof and Chaff… And even Wiress. My closest friend through all the years. The mere thought of having to murder her is unsettling.

But so however is the idea of risking, even sacrificing our own lives to protect the girl who was indirectly responsible for the death of one of my tributes last year. In the fraternity of Victors one eventually learns to look past such transgressions, but it takes time. Time, and the opportunity to get to know the new Victor personally as he or she learns to be a mentor in the years following his or her victory. I have yet to meet either Miss Everdeen or Mr. Mellark, to do more than glimpse them from afar on the Victors' stage in the Capitol, and again in District 3 during their brief Victory Tour stop, where they literally read prepared speeches with no emotion whatsoever. Tonight's Opening Ceremonies were the closest that I have ever been to the Star-Crossed Lovers, and I watched them closely. Both of them, but especially Miss Everdeen, seemed harsh and spiteful during their chariot ride of the city, dressed in stunning glowing outfits that resembled burning coals. The couple is truly fortunate to have such a talented pair of stylists. I look down at my own costume – a simple jumpsuit adorned with blinking LED lights. It's by far the most elegant costume ever designed by Perpenna, but it's nothing more than an attempt to imitate the District 12 stylists' visionary idea of using illumination to enhance the costumes last year.

But I digress. The point is that this "Mockingjay" has actually done little to warrant the investment of the entire rebel cause. But such is the reality of icons. When people are desperate for a symbol under which to unite and place their faith, it only takes one small act. One person, in the right place at the right time. That is what happened when the Star-Crossed Lovers threatened double suicide and manipulated the Gamemakers into allowing two winners for the first time in history. The timing was impeccable. The districts were primed and all they needed was one spark to set off the chain reaction of unrest. That spark could just have easily come from Lysandra Newton, the red-haired "Fox Girl" who was brilliant enough to survive by stealing food from the others, and made the Final Four despite refusing to end a single life by her own hand. Or the young man named Thresh from District 11, who stayed out of combat until his district partner was killed, and then fought the pair from District 2 to avenge her death, while sparing the young girl's ally – none other than our Mockingjay. Or my own tribute Maxell, who had the brilliance to commandeer the Capitol's land mines for his own uses. It even might have been one of the Careers from District 2 – the "other" pair of Star-Crossed Lovers in last year's Games. But fate chose the pair from District 12.

These two children know nothing about the Resistance that has been building for years. District 13 wants them solely for the purposes of being icons, rallying points for the other districts. Many of the victor tributes in this year's Games can provide far more in terms of tactical benefits. For example, I helped remodel the national television network, and I can provide invaluable expertise in both virtual and physical weapons design. Finnick and Cashmere are well-loved by the Capitol population and could be influential in turning them against President Snow's regime. The others have important knowledge about the resistance in their own respective districts and can help turn the tide in potential battles. However, all of this is irrelevant to District 13, and since they are the only district with the military capability to combat the Capitol, they are the ones calling all the shots.

I sigh and look around at my bedroom – a room that I last slept in thirty-three years and six months ago. Like all the other victors, I have been given an apartment in the Capitol, though I usually spend the Hunger Games in the mentors' quarters on the other side of this floor. But regulations stipulate that the tributes must use the tribute dormitories, so here I am. Almost seventy different boys have slept in that bed since the Training Center was built in the early years of the Hunger Games. Only three have ever used it again after their games were completed. And if I execute the plan, one way or another, these will be my final six nights here. Of course, the amount of sleep that I will get is yet to be determined.

But first things first. It is impossible to even think of sleeping while covered in makeup, sweat, dust, and the smell of horses. I step into what many here believe to be the pinnacle of human technology – the Capitol shower. It's the epitome of Capitol excess. One hundred and fifty different buttons for different options resulting in a staggering 1.4 quattuordecillion possible combinations for a customized shower – which is approximately thirty-three orders of magnitude higher than the total number of showers that have ever been taken in the history of humanity. In the Districts, many would be lucky to just have running water. If one was fortunate enough to have hot water, he would follow a simple routine and enjoy being clean. But here in the Capitol, one would never live it down if he or she took the exact same shower twice. I sigh, and punch in the same three buttons that I have selected for every shower that I have taken in the Capitol since being announced the Victor of my own Games.

I almost don't notice when the control panel starts to blink spastically, making patterns with the indicator lights for the selections. When I realize that something unusual is happening, I have to stare at the panel closely, since everything is blurry without my glasses. And when I finally understand what I am looking at, I am completely dumbfounded.

The indicator lights are forming the words to a message. It takes three repetitions before I am able to fully comprehend the text:

"DEAR TRIBUTE"  
"OF 75TH GAMES"  
"DONT GIVE UP"  
"YOU CAN WIN"  
"GOOD LUCK"  
"DIST3 POWNS"  
"TELL BEETEE"  
"THANK YOU"  
"NEVER FORGET"  
"MAXELL DYSON"

Maxell Dyson, the brilliant boy who I mentored and watched die last year, has somehow managed to bend the laws of time and send me a message from beyond the grave. He must have reprogrammed the shower sometime during the week before he entered the arena. I cannot fathom how he managed to find the time, all while working out all the intricacies of the ill-fated plan that I helped design for him. His brother was not exaggerating the boy's talent.

Of course, there is no way he could have anticipated that _I_ would be the one reading the message. He must have intended it to encourage the next child to be reaped, who would be facing the same terror that he had felt at the prospect of entering the arena.

I stand motionless under the deluge of warm water for the entirety of the shower program, my thoughts focused on this message that a now-deceased boy composed over three hundred sixty days ago. In this moment, it is as though a temporal portal has opened, allowing me to look directly into the past. I see Maxell's face almost as clearly as if he were standing next to me, his look of determination as he feverishly works on the circuits to reprogram the shower. Then I see him in the arena, setting up the land mines for the Careers while secretly building a remote control to activate and deactivate the mines at will. And I see his face after returning and seeing that the mines were destroyed, the devastation and hopelessness of the final seconds of his life before the Career from District 2 snapped his neck.

It doesn't end there. It's as if a dam has burst behind the portal, as one after another the faces of my former tributes enter my mind. Pixelle – Maxell's district partner who, like so many before her, didn't make it past the Bloodbath. Dolbee – a 17-year old with some potential who had the misfortune of running into the entire pack of Careers during their first hunt. Satella – whose gift of running turned out to be her curse as she never saw the canyon in front of her. There were Abbie and Oran, who paired up and were doing exceptionally well in the 69th Games, until Abbie decided to break the alliance early, betraying and murdering her partner. Abbie finished in second place, breaking Wiress' heart right at the end.

The faces continue flooding my mind. Luigi – the son of a plumber who made it into the top eight in a horrible year of thirst, before dying of a poisonous snakebite. Elsah – an only child who was killed at the Bloodbath by the eventual victor. Her father was executed after confronting her killer during her Victory Tour. The torrent continues faster and faster. Dwight and Hollis. Cecil and Chip. Dot. Ezra. Link. Trix. Nuvii. Beatrice. My district partner from my own Games. I can see them all, as clearly as if they were standing with me in this very bathroom.

And it doesn't end with the past. I see the faceless tributes of the future as well. Dozens upon dozens of them. All dead, all of them. Killed by this horror known as the Hunger Games. A realization begins to form in my mind: This will never end. One thousand seven hundred and twenty-five have already perished in the arena. And unless I do my part for the Rebellion and break the cycle, thousands more children will die for the entertainment of the Capitol. Even if I were to emerge as the "Victor of Victors", I would still be doomed to witness child after child marching to their deaths.

The realization begins to crystallize into a conviction. We are all slaves to the Capitol. In many ways, the Victors are even more so than the rest of the district population. If all does not go according to plan, if this rebellion does not succeed, I will die as I have lived the entirety of my life: as a slave. Whether it happens in the arena in the coming days, or back in District 3 after the years of my life are utterly spent, it will be the same. I will die as a slave. This plan of saving the Mockingjay, devised by District 13, this plan is the only hope that we have of a better future. With District 13's help, the Capitol can be overthrown. The Hunger Games can be ended.

So I will play my part. I will protect Katniss Everdeen and help bring down the force field. I will do this.

For Maxell Dyson.

* * *

_**A/N:** Well, there it is. I hope you guys enjoyed this story as much as I enjoyed writing it. Thanks for all of your support!_

_Priscilla is the name I gave to the female morphling from District 6, as mentioned in my other story "Confessions of a Teenage Cannibal"._

_The list of former District 3 tributes (and their backstories) is a mix of names borrowed from some stories that I enjoyed greatly, as well as some names of my own invention. _

_Here is the credit list for the borrowed names:  
__**Elsah:** "The Beauty of Freedom" (and sequels) by **Caisha702.**  
**Abbie, Oran:** "From Fearful to Fearsome" by **be-nice-to-nerds**  
**Satella: "**__Before They Fall" by **akatrixie** (although in that story she is actually the D3 girl for the 74th games. I just thought it was a brilliant D3 girl's game)  
**Beatrice, Cecil, Dwight, Ezra, Hollis: **"Volts" by **Heart the Squid**. One of the best Beetee-POV's out there._


End file.
